i.
when i leave the house, it has just turned to monday. i mean to run to somewhere new but i just find myself running up and down the sharp shadows of your collarbones, again and again. i run and run until i begin to blur and bend, molding into a stream-lined shape, melting away into the background. i run, and when i finally stop, it's like waking up suddenly from one of those falling dreams-- my whole body shakes once. every inch of me slams into a wall. i hit the floor before i even register that i've fallen. my throat screams and writhes for water to soothe its ache. i swallow the thick taste of sleep in my mouth. i slurp up air like lemonade. i am pretty sure that all runners do this.

ii.
we lie in bed, our legs still a little tangled, our breaths still a little short. i wait until you fall asleep and then i roll on top of you, put my lips parallel to yours, and spill my stories right into your mouth. i do this every night; you are a heavy sleeper. tonight, it is thursday, and i tell you three stories:

first i tell you the story of when i was on my highschool's track team for one and a half practices. then i tell you the story of our breasts, smushed together as they are now (i compare them through similie, using like and as. i mumble about the fleshy joining of our hearts.). then i tell you the story of when i learned to run. more accurately, i tell you the story of when i learned to run away. "at the time," i say, "i was wearing a pink shirt and my hair was still blonde."

iii.
in college, i joined a gym and i spent hours there, running on the treadmills. i never did anything else. other regulars would joke about my strong heart and i would smile at them in what i'm pretty sure was a mysterious, alluring way.

"the best part about the treadmill," i tell you on a tuesday, "is that you can pretend you're running anywhere you want." i don't mention that the other best part about the treadmill is the incline control. i try to pour only my most poetic thoughts into your body.

iv.
when i reach the end of my stories, i go back to my side of the bed and listen to the calm in-out in-out of your breathing. i imagine that my words are piling up in your stomach and one day you'll vomit up your own. you'll tell me things like "i once went to albania and there i met a professional parrot breeder and he taught me how to french braid my own hair," or "i became a doctor because that's what my parents want, but deep in my heart i've only ever wanted to cut shrubberies into the shapes of animals," or "i've had a reoccuring dream ever since i was nine in which i burn my house down, become a stowaway on a cruise ship, which crashes, and i end up living all alone on an island, having to fend for myself and kill giraffes for food and i guess it should be scary but mostly it's just calming."

v.
i come home and you are sitting on the floor in our bite-sized living and dining room. a treadmill is shoved awkwardly into the corner and i trip over the couch it has displaced. i look at you for an explanation and you stare out of the window, as though i am serenading you from the balcony rather than staring at you stupidly from the carpet.

vi.
at the time, i was wearing a pink shirt and my hair was still blonde. it was the first day of the weekend after a hard five days of adding and subtracting, of colouring inside the lines, of sitting still and sharing snacks. my aunt was holding tightly onto me. our arms swung back and forth in time with the beat of our shoes and we sang as only small children and those who love them can sing: the alphabet, campfire songs, poems that we'd make up on the spot that didn't even rhyme. i asked when my dad would be coming home from the hospital and she stopped in her tracks and looked at me with wide eyes, shocked into sadness.

honey. sweetie, i. oh, darling, uhm. oh. oh. cupcake.

i wrenched my hand free of hers and my feet began working without my consent, kicking out desperately into the world, away from her stuttered pet names and my father's weak heart and the ugly black dress i'd eventually have to wear. i ran until the wind blew my lips back into a smile. i ran until i fell and woke up with a shudder. i ran until i could never stop running.

vii.
"i'm actually a pretty light sleeper," you say.