You are a race I cannot win without twisting my ankle,
A dish I cannot eat without allergic reaction
I chase and chase hoping for a less rocky road, one without the hazard of twisting my ankles again
I chase hoping for there to be no nuts on the dish and I can finally eat without my throat closing again.
Yet; I still drag myself to the finish line with twisted ankles
I still feast on the dish with an epipen in hand.
I still love you even though you hurt me, hoping for the day you don't.
