Runaway Love

I am a runner. A rusher. A ruiner.

When it comes to making difficult, possibly life-changing decisions, I run. No, not down the road in the early evening for cardio, fitness, and mental clarity. I run away from having to make those decisions, or at least I try. I'm most successful with decisions regarding matters of the heart...sometimes, but especially when it's something new. As you may know, the past two years have presented a catalogue of new and different and difficult and uncomfortable, yet refreshing and hopeful and beautiful. "Yet" takes some time to get to, and I believe that is partly the reason for why I run. 

The other part is that making a decision that could prove to be detrimental, or just wrong, puts me on edge and makes me feel uneasy. Nothing about it is easy. Or simple. Or fair. Mistakes I can handle, but to mishandle and make a mess of things(and quite literally a fool of myself), well now that's just something I hate. So, why not run? If I can get out of something altogether, I'll do it with the slightest hesitancy and all the fervor. Because, if I'm being honest, me running is avoidance at its finest, and I've mastered that quite well.

I am a hodgepodge of things. I am fearful and somehow full of faith. I am bold, yet somehow too timid to take the blow of rejection. I am a jokester because if I can start the laughter before the disappointment, then the disappointment will only be a little real. I am soft and hard. I am blunt and empathetic. I am a romantic. A hopeless romantic. Yet, I remain guarded. I'd rather meet you outside; no, you can't come here. No one gets in, and those ousted are done forever. 

Simple? Not really. It works until it doesn't because sometimes I want all the things that feel good and smell good. With him. The one from my daydreams and fleeting deep sleep dreams. The one who smiles brightly for real, no pretenses or facades, no masks, nothing hidden.

But what about the runner in me?