It starts in my shoulders. an ache so deep, it feels like something is shifting beneath my skin. Tiny, disconnected fragments, like molecules twisted together in some strange, unshakable bond. They’re tied to each other by invisible threads, pulling at me from the inside out, each movement a reminder that I am stuck here. It’s not a pain I can touch or ease, but a constant, creeping pressure that tells me something inside wants to escape.
I want to run. I imagine myself sprinting through the open air, as fast as my legs can carry me, away from this tightness, away from this body that feels foreign to me. I picture myself floating in the ocean, weightless, drifting away from everything. my thoughts, my body, my self. There’s something freeing about it, something that whispers that freedom is just beyond reach, if only I could let go.
But then the question comes: Run from what? Run from who?
I can’t outrun myself. The very thing I want to escape is the thing that carries me. The ache, the pressure, the weight. They are me, trapped in this body. And no matter how far I run, they will follow. They always will.
