Incomplete.
Revelation.
It's never enough to know what kind of person you are; that's only half the story. Admittance doesn't equal completion, acceptance diminishes the plotline and denial dissolves the chapters until they're a crazy jumbled mess of letters and incomplete sentences.
I have acknowledged the fact that I'm a runner; it's as clear as the words on a page. A sprinter who is weighed down by the shell on my back, like a turtle who struggles on despite the world on their shoulders. I never seem to escape quick enough and many times it seems that my new spot of refuge is worse than the place before.
Yet after every time I get away, there's always a regret that tags along with me.
My most current one just happens to be named Josh.
I suppose the words "you never know what you've got until it's gone" could apply here, but I already knew what I had before I left. And I ran nonetheless.
Actually, it was more like a stumbling, blind walk, filled with the lethargicness that could only come with being underwater. Trying to place my feet in the shifting, wet sand as the current pulled at my hair and skin with the fingers of both a gentle temptress and a brutal animal.
As it is always.
Because after every escape, a piece of me jumps off to make room for that regret. That fragment attatches to the people and places I have left behind, holding a little spot for me in case I ever want to go back.
There is always that constant tug at my heart to retrieve that shard, that representation of myself.
And resisting that tug is what makes the escape worthwhile. Because you know that if you ever go back to silence that pull, another one would take its place.
Runner or not, you always leave a mark, a pull, a want. You always leave an influence that makes you want to stay, to not run away with your tail between your legs.
It's not acceptance or admittance or even denial that finishes your story, those are just plot lines; it's the quest to become a better person, so that every imprint you leave on someone's life brings a smile to their face whenever they remember you.
Without that, you never are complete.
I have acknowledged the fact that I'm a runner; it's as clear as the words on a page. A sprinter who is weighed down by the shell on my back, like a turtle who struggles on despite the world on their shoulders. I never seem to escape quick enough and many times it seems that my new spot of refuge is worse than the place before.
Yet after every time I get away, there's always a regret that tags along with me.
My most current one just happens to be named Josh.
I suppose the words "you never know what you've got until it's gone" could apply here, but I already knew what I had before I left. And I ran nonetheless.
Actually, it was more like a stumbling, blind walk, filled with the lethargicness that could only come with being underwater. Trying to place my feet in the shifting, wet sand as the current pulled at my hair and skin with the fingers of both a gentle temptress and a brutal animal.
As it is always.
Because after every escape, a piece of me jumps off to make room for that regret. That fragment attatches to the people and places I have left behind, holding a little spot for me in case I ever want to go back.
There is always that constant tug at my heart to retrieve that shard, that representation of myself.
And resisting that tug is what makes the escape worthwhile. Because you know that if you ever go back to silence that pull, another one would take its place.
Runner or not, you always leave a mark, a pull, a want. You always leave an influence that makes you want to stay, to not run away with your tail between your legs.
It's not acceptance or admittance or even denial that finishes your story, those are just plot lines; it's the quest to become a better person, so that every imprint you leave on someone's life brings a smile to their face whenever they remember you.
Without that, you never are complete.