The gods are watching you. But haven't they always been? And won’t they always be? As you run, following diagonals of their cream-puffed faces across a phosphorescent sky. Sun beams are trailing away into the unheard-of distances, time and space so concrete, the here and now, so fluid as the water you are immersed in, the now and then. Surround yourself in the cold, go ahead. I can wait. You need no one to entertain yourself -
That is enough.
The summer will never end and you will never feel the heat of the sun. You will never be burnt or feel the skin peel off your neck, shoulders, feel the overexposure of heat make your hands and soles harden with unshakeable callouses. Familiarity is all it takes to normalize anything, and come August, harsh concrete will sometimes feel smoother than grass. Sunburns might feel cooler than popsicles, and then - now - bite down and cringe from delicious cold. Be overcome by the chill and be borne by the welcomed pain of an unending summer.
Isn’t it nice to run wild? Isn’t it beautiful to be blind and unafraid? Isn’t it cruel to open your eyes and feel chlorine instead of air? Why don’t you run? You want to because you have to want to because distance is everything. You don’t want to leave but wonder what would happen if you did. Would they come for you. Would you hide. Would you go back. Will you go back. Would the summer cease or would it carry on in your absence. Which would you prefer it to do.
And so you run, because the forest is long behind you while the woods have only begun.
And the gods are watching you from their rain-heavy faces. But haven’t they always been? And won’t they always be? For they are following you across the darkening earth and shrouding you from the sun. They are keeping the skin on your back and your feet accustomed to the grass as the first thunderclap applauds you and the first lightning takes a snapshot of the sky.
