Every time you slip away from my grasp
I look ahead of myself
and realise you were, in fact, never there
to begin with.
You had begun running
long before even slowing down.
You’re like the tip of the arrow,
forever hurtling towards the distance,
and I’m its tail,
I sometimes wonder
if it’s me
who’s too slow,
who’s too fast.
of the deceptive pleasures of running away,
for when the time comes
when I can’t keep up anymore
and fall behind
to gradually disappear in the distance,
you may have nothing left to run away from.