Should I continue this book?
“Run away,” they say as if it’s easy. As if I can just peel off my skin, leave my life as I know it crumpled in the trash, and never look back. It doesn't matter the home you're raised in or the people you know. Running is running. Cowardice has a thousand different faces.
Yet, my legs flee even as my heart stays inside that broken house. I run and run polluted air burning my lungs, until my body begs me to stop. But I'm not dead yet. So, I stand up blood coating my raw knees and run more until my legs refuse to hold me.
