Her feet hit the pavement, and the wind brushed over her skin. The sun tried to blind her as she pushed on. Not ready to stop even as breathing became more and more difficult. Running towards something and running from herself. It was wrong, yet it was so right. Each step brought back a memory of a very different rythym. She smiled at herself and pushed on until the sweat dripped down her face, down her back. Her mind was at peace, the internal silence was so wonderful compared to its normal blather. She didn't know what it was but when it came to running she could just let all of her thoughts go and all there was was the next moment, the next step, the next breathe. She was never more in-tuned to herself than while she was running. She never questioned the emptiness she felt while she was running because it wasn't there. Her anger and grief could just fade away to where there was nothing but contentment and the need to carry on. Running was not her only pleasure it was just the only guilt free one. It's the simple things in life that keep us going and sometimes that's never more than a morning run.
