There's something.
Something inside which is burning.
Like something is trying to runaway.
Like all the organs are in a state of alarm.
Like there's forest fire.
It is only to spread; it is not ebbing any time soon.
Like there's running.
You are running, even faster.
But from the inside.
From the gut.
You feel like everything inside is going to come out if you even breathe.
It is heavy. Very heavy.
You feel your back is done with the burden.
Like there's something perennially flowing.
Like some lava. Like something very hot.
Like you have seen something so terrible that you want to cover your face.
But your face is still visible.
That visibility you want to avoid.
Is the burn you want to hide?
Is it the face?
You want to stop the run. You sweat, profusely. Not an ounce of actually running. Not even an ounce. Legs shiver. Heart quivers.
Oh mediate then.
Calm down then.
Why don't you?
What is it?
Work?
Home?
Things are happening your way.
What do you want?
You aren't expected to run. No.
Walk and come a mile.
Fast.
Ohkay. Yes then. Faster.
But no.
It is inside.
Inside.
It is not a marathon, it is not a race.
It is not even a fitness challenge, but you are running.
Where?
You don't know.
You try to find out.
At times, the burning causes a lot of pain, like the pain won't subside.
Like it is flowing.
Like if you touch, you will burn.
You will be Ashes, the next moment.
It is like you are watering the plants, you want it to grow.
Grow like immediately.
Like now.
Like now now.
Like now is the only time.
Where is this, inside.
Inside, everything.
Out, tears.
Out, pain.
Back ache.
A headache.
A drowsiness.
A race, nowhere to go.
Nowhere, dunno. Everything means a lot. A lot of everything.
There's a match box.
There's no fire.
Match box, unlit matches.