Run.
The impulse is like an irresistible wave
The weight of expectation is like a mountain.
It feels as though his lungs will be crushed under the unimaginable load.
Surely the rest of death is better than the pain of the journey
Too long. Too heavy. Too much.
He cannot possibly go on.
The endless march.
The weight of guilt.
He can never be as good as his facade.
They see his facade and ask great things.
He is not that facade.
He cannot carry what pretends to have carried.
He cannot be what he can fake.
He drowns.
He wishes he could drown.
He goes on.
After all, he can't let them down.
They can never find out.
Find out that he is not his facade.
His mask is greater than he can ever be.
He will be crushed.
Unless he becomes his facade.
He must never be what he is to become what he pretends to be.
He must be as strong as he boasts.
He must be his mask.
He cannot.
So surely he must escape.
Run.
Run from this tsunami of expectation.
Escape however he may.
He wants to drown.
He cannot.
