by Jay Willett ’20
Whether it’s exercise or stress, the sweat is the same,
Slow, hot, sometimes worth it, sometimes not.
She made me feel like I sprinted 200 laps,
She watched me run and run, as fast as I could,
Until the breath I was breathing wasn’t my own.
Still I gasped for air.
The goal still tens of laps away,
Already ran far from where I began.
Willingly, passionately, adamantly,
During breaks the laps increased.
She wasn’t cheering me on at the finish line anymore.
My back twanged, my ears burned, my heart sunk deep,
To watch her’s float to the shallows.
I feel the same sweat trickle down my throbbing legs.
She was cheering again, too far away to see for who.
Warm wind from the south.
I look back.
The track seemed unfamiliar, but nostalgic.
She can wait at the finish line all she wants.
I turned, and took the first step back.