They say never run away from the truth because if you start running, you forget what you are running away from after a while but you never stop running.
I have been running for a long time, afraid to look back dreading to see what the truth might look like even from a distance. I would pant, heave, cramp my legs, slow down on many occasions but I never stopped running. Whilst I run, I would contemplate on the many forms my truth could take, each one being exponentially worse than the actual version but nevertheless I never stopped to face the truth, for running seemed to give me a false sense of security that the thought of facing the truth didn’t, however diluted it might be. I would tell myself that I was running towards something and not away from something else. As untrue as it might be, I was able to inject this thought slowly until I started believing it myself and so I ran and ran, never to look back, hoping that I would one day forget what I was running away from, hoping that ‘they’ were right. It has been so long that running has become an involuntary motion, a subconscious act that has become my identity for running is all that I have been doing. But I am still unable to forget the day I started running, the thing I started running away from and truth seems to have grown legs in my case and seems to be trailing behind me, haunting me. If only ‘they’ were right! I would think to myself and still keep running, in the hope that someday I will lose its trail or at least, reach the false destination I had led myself to believe I was running towards.