I hope I will ever make sense.
I thread paths sages rarely thread.
I groan. I cry.
My legs could carry me no more.
I wish. I died.
But I wake again to face this race.
I’ve dreamed. I’ve tried.
Running with these horses makes me faint.
I run alone to win this race.
My trophy stares me in the face.
(w) 19.11.12. 9:20-9:30am
for those who walk alone because they thread uncommon paths.