On this road where I travel daily, you travel the same road, a hundred miles away, with your own business. From this end of the pavement, I can feel you make your way, and I think you can feel me make my own way. If you lived and died on this concrete highway, I'll know as soon as I reach it.
The summer she cried over her loss, I cried the same the next summer. When I walk out my door and appreciate the droplets of rain on my face, I know I love what I've been given-giving-gifted, and can take the steps to grasp what I want of myself. The way I pictured myself when I was twelve. Pining for change won't make changes.
So here's to my running start.
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