Lullaby

I run. I cannot get myself to stop. It pulls at me in every still moment, it lures me with promises of salvation. In a river of fair-weather joggers I lose myself, let go. My demons join, of course, they shout encouragement and scorn like a pack of 1980's horror b-movie monsters; it's endearing. I carry on long conversations with all manner of ghosts. Sometimes they respond, sometimes they get bored with my desperation and vanish as I get sidetracked by the lights on the bridge at sundown. The demons tire eventually, too. They call it a night and leave me to a strange silence and sore legs. I buy myself peace with pain. It's a trope.

The truth is, May runs through me like a whirlwind, like a manic pixie dream girl I long for all winter. Maybe it's the excruciating silence but I remember again who I am, what I came for. I remember the way I look people in the eye when my back is straight, I remember how near adventure is when you reach for it. I remember how my body is a messy tangle of magic and if I open this lid it'll burst out, you better watch out it's contagious. I knew this was real even when it seemed impossible, I'm not sure you heard me, but no matter.

I'll be shouting it from the rooftops, shortly.