You’ll make it.

My smile was my armor. It was a means of deceiving others. Hiding the truth.
My smile was a polite hello.
My smile was reassuring.
My smile was fake.

My legs, I can trust. Always.
My legs have carried me well past 26.2 miles.
My legs continue to heal from injury big and small.
My legs are my strength.

My memory will convict you.
My memory can describe our last encounter vividly.
My memory warns me from getting hurt, again.
My dreams show me, my lack of control.

I’m not able to get to the driver seat in time.
I try to climb over the center console.
The steering wheel is out of reach.
The brake pedal is even further.
When I finally reach, the car has accelerated into high speeds.
I veer off the highway.
I’m about to hit the grassy ditch.
I finally feel calm. I know it’s about to happen.
I finally accept it. I feel weightless.
I fly.


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