Running with Scissors

Not a single whisper in the dark nor even the softest sound from the flip of my hair as I forge ahead, no regrets, only clean momentum taking me the fuck away from whatever mire I leave in my wake.

The world behind me simply fades, those echoes of yesterday dissolving like mist in the dawn. I begin to taste the freedom hanging in the air, a sharp, electrifying pulse urging me onward. Each step is a defiance of the past, a rebellion against the weight of what once was. With every stride, shadows stretch and snap, releasing their grip on my soul—unshackled and absolutely alive.

I am a force of nature, a whirlwind of determination. No more dancing to the tune of doubt or the pitter-patter of fears that once clawed at my heels. Instead, I carve my path with the fire in my veins, igniting the very ground beneath me. My heartbeat syncs with the rhythm of a fierce resolve—love me or leave me, but my journey does not hinge on your desperate apologies.

The horizon calls, painted in hues of possibility, beckoning with arms wide open. I chase the sunlight, knowing that behind every fading star lies the promise of a new dawn. I refuse to be caught in the web of nostalgia, nor will I linger in the shadows of hesitation. I am the architect of my own fate, and the blueprint of my life is inked in bold strokes straight from the heart.

I let the wind carry my spirit, unyielding and wild—watch me vanish into the dawn with a fierce grin, a tapestry of dreams woven into the very fabric of my existence. As I sprint toward the unknown, I am nothing but raw momentum, a comet blazing through the void, unraveling the tapestry of tomorrows yet to come.

Let them wonder where I went. Let them replay the final moment in their mind, looking for a crack, a sign, a reason. But the truth is, they don’t get the ending — I do. This story wasn’t about them. It never was.

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