The Pain of Haste
Four years ago, and I was living in a state where you’d be disturbed by the drop of a needle at 5 am. It’d stain my sleep and the grumbling train would shout it’s locomotive without pause. Every morning and the day would stretch to eternity.
Good morning at 4 am and the mayhem had already commenced. The hustling of souls and honks of trucks creating barricades for innovation and peaceful thoughts. The difference between then and now is space, time and distance.
There isn’t any space in between the long stride of the clock pointing at digit twelve and the short stride pointing seven. The gap appears nonexistent despite the fat arm it had. The time seems now, but I’m absent it its moment. Technology took me on a journey on the screen only for me to arrive at my original spot. Circumnavigation. Earth is truly spherical. The distance I covered in sleep would slip me into oblivion if it were to be deep, so I pray I never had deep sleep until the ink is raised.
Now, I’m lost and my spiritual energy draining to zero, Satan could name me a hero or blame me for being strong enough to make an A-list.
I’d dreamt of death and my birthday cakes had been shared while I was on the sick bed. Admitted. Most smile in pain as fluid syphoned into my veins from a height that is close but far in my sight.
Like a vagabond, not a feudalist. I own nothing, yet I shared the space, time and distance with every matter that matters in existence. And I ran too much, I slipped and failed to feel the pain. Blood gushing into flood yet I felt not. I ran forgetting when to take the ultimate bow and vow that there’s no deity except the reminder of my existence.
I still run though.
For freedom, peace or security. I know but embarrassed to tell.
I still run.
I wished I had stopped.