all the places I run to, have no room for me
All the Places I Run to Have No Room for Me
There’s a strange comfort in running, not away from anything visible, but from something deeper, invisible. Everywhere I go, I seem to hear the same messagem, “There’s simply no place for you.” Whether it is the busy corner of the city or the stillness of an empty home, there is always this feeling of being misplaced, as if a guest in my own life. I would keep looking and keep running but somehow every door I knocked on was left slightly ajar as if waiting for me to leave.
The world is big, but the world is empty. That is what I had heard; today, I live it. There’s always, normally, room for all that’s full in a place where laughter should ring but doesn’t reach me, where warmth must exist but never touches my skin. Maybe the problem with the places and spaces was never me but rather that I have an emptiness for which there’s a hole too big to fill.
”In the rooms we feel most ourselves, we are still strangers.”
Running does not help. It only prolongs the inevitable realization that no matter where I go, the room I seek is not out there. It’s somewhere within. If only I could find it.
