She’s searching for a getaway from the morning light, the only source of her warmth. From the stifling night, worth another sad poem. From the pretty sun and the smiley moon, her loyal allies. From a million stars, staring from high above, the only audience she has. From all the good things that mean nothing in a story where she’s busy with the consequences, she’s not the cause.
Somebody asks her if it hurts so much then why do you keep running? If your feet bleed and your heart aches and your bones break, why do you keep running? If this road will never take you to the other side, if you won’t ever depart and what you escape is stitched to your fate, branded in your soul, everyone can see it in your eyes… Tell me, why do you keep running? Just to end up from where you began, but even more tired, yet you keep running.
She’s vigorous in making an ugly tale pretty, but no matter what, the plot never works out in her favor. The chapters are long and exhausting. Some page is plagiarized from the first chapters and it goes on again. To make up a happy ending is what she can’t do, to end with those three cliché words written in cursive at the end of every classic movie is what she cannot do. You see, the antagonist is the story itself, she becomes her worst enemy sometimes. Her sadness breaks hearts, her fears lead her, her thoughts eat her bit by bit her but she lives. Nothing makes sense in it and she can’t end this book.
What if she is forlorn, and runs away again? A getaway from all of the characters more tired of her and leave the pages blank then slip like a drop of ink. She’s good at it, the only thing she’s good at, running, and perhaps it’ll lead her to another embodiment.