Running.
I've become pretty accustomed to it by now.
Whether it be back at the gym, being late to work, or my past.
It was always the past.
But he was always faster.
He never slowed down, and he never gave up.
"Kathrine- you can't keep running...
After spending the entire weekend resting, and clearing my mind, I have decided to confront Harry this morning.
Since my night out, I've spent a good amount of my Saturday and Sunday evening on the roof, smoking a few cigarettes.
On Saturday I slept in till the afternoon and didn't get out of bed close to three o'clock, not counting the time I got up to feed Moxie because I just ended up back in my bed.
Around four, I went to the store to pick up some DW-40, food for meals, and more cat food and treats for Moxie. After I got back home, I oiled the lock on my door, made myself some dinner, even though I was nowhere near hungry to eat. Sat with Moxie telling her everything that happened, then went straight to the roof.
I sat up there and watched the sunset, taking a pack of smokes, and a sketchbook with me. I don't always bring things to draw up there with me, but after the events of Friday night, it only felt right.
It started off as little doodles, something that I always find myself doing instead of drawing actual things. Then I started to draw the Gates of Hell sign, which ended up being very difficult because it turns out, drawing neon signs isn't the easiest. Then I tried drawing my drink that I had, or at least what I think it looked like.
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Then I found myself drawing a pair of eyes.
A pair of eyes that have been through things, and seen things only one can imagine. What those things might be, I have yet to figure out. But as I was drawing these eyes, the secrets that they held were spilling out in blacks and greens. Big secrets that I may never know about.
They are pained eyes. Only these set of eyes, these dark warning eyes, can be scary yet so inviting at the same time. I didn't mean to be drawing Harry's eyes, but once I started, I couldn't pretend that it wasn't happening, so I kept at it.
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As soon as I was done with the drawing, I wanted to throw it away. I had this urge to rip it apart and burn the pieces. I wanted to take my dying cigarette, and put it out on it. But like with all my other drawings of my demons, I tore it out of my sketchbook, and placed it in the bottom right drawer of my desk filled with other drawings where I felt like doing the same.
