from walking to running to darkness

The moon hung white and low in the sky. I stared out at it from the unhinged window of no sleep. Behind me were the sane and the simple. Ahead was a rather steep decline, were I to accept it. And alongside me she spoke words to soothe, masking barbs and jabs, small they were yet enough to make a difference. I was almost alone already as they began to pierce me through.

Out there in the dark you just never know. Do you choose wide open sky with stars and nothing below. Or do you take obscurity above and fear below, with only a narrow space between in which to crawl around. Maybe you run it all into the ground, that unforgiving and barely permeable substrate upon which we all laughably try to build.

When daylight came, or when it comes, there is always that moment, it's like a prism that you look through at all the places to which you could've walked. And if you turn the prism a little more, as the hour when you must leave approaches fast, you see yourself running. But if your wrist twists past a little too much, you don't even see a thing.