what are you running away from, child?
what are you running away from when you sleep with your windows open no matter the cost of temperature, no matter the ease with which bad men could make their way up those walls, no matter the wings that fly in to lose their life to the light?
what is it about that breeze that keeps your stir crazy self sane, that breeze that makes you tame your mane instead of letting it fall dirty and matted and free around your shoulders, that breeze that makes you breathe with your eyes closed?
aren’t you afraid you might fly away with it?
or perhaps you already have, and you keep those windows open in hopes you will one day return.
I know you’ve spent long days with your head hanging over the edge of the bed, eyes half open, heart fully broken, trying to believe that there are no whispers on the wind telling you to go.
what are you running away from when you sneak out of crowds when the lights go down and the voices are loud so your friends don’t notice your absence the way they notice the trees when they first start to bud?
what are you running away from when you pray to wake up invisible?
and God, how do you answer Him?
He sees you running from miles away and yet He stays, He stays where He knows you will stop when you are ready to talk and He waits with the diligence of a marble Roman statue.
and what is your excuse?
who made it so you cannot even open your mouth to scream “Why?” when He tries to reach out His arms to you, but rather you stand, brimming with boiling waterfalls, shaking your head in distrust as you turn away to start running again.
where is the start of your damage?
what made the first break in your mind?
I’ve found my freedom at the top of mountains too tall for demons to climb, but what goes up must come down, and I always came down.
it seems that now, I’ve stayed.
I was trained far more in cross country than in combat so when the mistakes I have made and the men who have made me mute and the demons who don’t dare stop their destruction finally catch up to me, I look for my open window instead of my weapon. and I run.
I am tired of walking the plank just because my vessel has the potential to turn from ship to shipwreck.
I am tired of calling it quits at the hint of connection.
I am tired of feeling guilt at the thought of resurrection.
but this life seems to spin too fast for my liking sometimes so I run to keep up, or to out last, or to not be left behind.
running away is what I do best
it’s what I do instead of being the lady that doth protest
but I’m tired of keeping my mouth shut and my lungs over capacity, I want to turn my forward motion into forward tenacity
I want to see the roses bloom where I plant them
you can stop running anytime, love, anytime.
the wind still blows even when your window is not open to feel it.
don’t believe what they say about once a goner, always a goner; the Lord will you meet you where your legs stop working and He will carry you to the finish line, stroking your hair all the while.
there is kindness the color of glaciers and hope as important as bees, they will rest upon you once you start growing, so start growing and stop running and know that your feet deserve a rest just as much as your mind does.
stop running and start growing:
you’ll find that your soles know how to take root, and how to take root quickly, you’ll find that your shoulders are mountains in themselves and your waist is small enough to slip through the cracks in their armor.
your hair is South Dakota wheat waving in the wind and your voice is the wind in itself.
your spine cracks like the trees and grows even taller and your ribs have the stars trapped between them.
just stop, take a break, take a rest, take a breather, take enough time to photosynthesize into a reminder that you are more terrifying that the things that chase you.
you’ll find that they might stop dead in their tracks once you do too.