Walking home tonight, it got all bunched up inside--the contentment, the angst, the worry, the uncertainty, the excitement, the longing. I tried to pound the asphalt into some semblance of sensibility, my pace quickening to match an eerily appropriate waltz by Laura Marling.
All I could think about was how good it would feel to run through the streets, jagged breath and murmuring heart carrying me up toward the enchanted night sky. How free it would feel to loose gravity in a Swan Lake leap over the puddled curbside. How simple it would be without the need to run toward something or away from something. How elemental it would be to just run.
I thought about it all the way home, hands stuffed in pockets, feet disappointed in their downward mobility.