My shoes are scattered in my truck.

I don’t plan for that.

My days catch-up to me.

I don’t want to be caught.

My boss is miserable.

I call him “my boss”, because he belongs to me, like a slave, while I am the master.

My shoes carry me where I need to go—golfing, running, and working, and not necessarily in that order.

I am different in different places.

My coworkers are the same. Their shoes are scuffed.

I change clothes, shoes, personalities, constantly.

My best self is hidden, completely.

I need to hide.

My magic is the last light from the sun—it glows brightly, beneath the horizon.


6 thoughts on “The Shoes I Wear to Outrun the Sun

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s