I keep running. Never staying in one place, never letting anyone close enough to touch me.
I dream of flying, while tethered to the cruel earth, my feet never stopping their ragged rhythm.
Eventually I will be forced to stop. I can only run so far and so long.
Eventually I will be laid beneath the soil I have tread, forgotten by it.
If only dreaming of flying gave birth to wings.
If only wishes were horses and I, a beggar, could ride.
If only gravity could be defied and wings wished into being, I would fly farther than I can even dream.
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