Thirty kilometres to go

Thirty kilometres to go. You can force what you want to say. But what is inspiration. You refer back to a past ‘A grade, a standard - Optimism! The hope wedged to your aspiring dream. Then to recreate! Fleming found penicillin by chance, whilst napping in abject squalor. But you are unable to sail the undetermined winds. A quadriplegic bird trapped by the visions of machine operated limbs. Keep running! Keep running………..running………running. Till they ferry you the trapped source of the earth, to quench your thirst. The orchestral thronging of the battered rocks at a waterfall, eroded till they too are no more, and the desert comes to conquer all. Everything will be flat in the end, and there will always be an end. But you are here. Now! Running; amidst the mass cheering, in the confused chaos of the good deed. Your intentions were never honourable; your desire never true, the calling of lustful acknowledgement drove you through.

Every argument lost, every feeling given a second thought. But you chose to preserve. You chose. You deserve. But nightmares permeate the organic preserves of the breakfast table. Candle lit bubble baths, the silk Indian curtain cloth. Sunday morning intimacy; those first looks that deceived. But this new, real world is made up of a mutating environmental responsive skin. You come, you adapt and you leave. Equal voices have drowned out the conqueror’s final speech. Sweat pores from the skin; the girl that had fallen into the sea. Alone. Her final note read,’ I’m sorry, I simply want to jump in’. A moment. The madness. The sudden explosion, of a star within.

In the corner, on a putrid dish left untouched by the rage that shattered the final scene. It grew like a rose from concrete. The culmination of a life spent without the warming second glance of the passer by. The practice runs had been easy; it had proved a workable theory. All that was needed were the right conditions; water, air and a sunny breeze. Life, the ‘flashing’ swoosh of a designer tick. The sponsors of these burning lungs. These longing dreams.

The stop clock. STOP! WATCH! 2 hours 32 min and 34 sec. The first runner has finished. A girl comes to your side then disappears into the distant. Till you get home you won’t be able to recreate, re-perceive the chance stroking of another’s salient soaked skin. Dream! Sun, Saturday, the blurry haze of the lustful night before. The clink of glasses, violet ridges of gently tongued lips, slipped into something a little more comfortable. The moronic stumbling of a body founded on wobbling knees. Two voices command the directions, attain the desire of a single unrelenting need. You chose –right! You deserve. Focus! See! See! Now begin;
‘It’s so good to see you again after all these years’.
God, I want you.
‘I means, it’s been so long – you look the same. I mean, geez, you look the same’

How can it be that times passes two people so differently?

‘So –um - another drink?’ Grab the cup. Sink it. Keep running. The distance will get closer. This place further away.