Running From Something

the streets were far darker at night then during the day. she lost her sense of orientation quickly. the roads all seemed to look the same, the night engulfing them all in it's simple darkness. the stars shining down on every single surface, except her, and she walked alone.

the harbour passage was a bitch at night. walking underneath the bridge, she saw so many homeless men huddling to keep out the cold. they yelled things towards her, calling out to her, asking her where she was going. she knew the answer, just not the destination. she wondered what it would be like to sleep out under the stars tonight, to wake up with the frost on her nose, or maybe to be lucky and not wake up again.

she touched her mitten to her nose, whipping away the tears that had run down her face. it's rough texture stung, but only temporarily. walking quickly, she was numb, she was unfeeling, she was hateful. she was something alright, something other then that which she had been.

the boardwalk was empty. the cars, heading out. the streetlights burned yellow patches into the gray snow. she made her way in extreme quiet, in extreme secrecy, in extreme pain.

she had not called ahead of time, but a good fourty five minutes since she had started walking, she reached the waterfront. she reached the little green house. the lights were on, they engulfed her like warmth, they engulfed her entirely and she was still. and she was afraid to move. and she was afraid that all that she had come to know would unravel tonight before her eyes. and she was afraid that like those bums she might end up sleeping homeless tonight. and she was afraid.

then the door opened and she was allowed entry. her eyes colder then usual, her face drained from color, she knew things they had no idea. what was it that she was being exposed to so often? had they no clue? had he no clue? would he help her from what she wished to hide from? who she wished to hide from?

was she hiding from the world that night, while she slept by the soft glow of the lamp, and the goo goo dolls played on the strereo, and she bit her fingers bare? was she hiding? or was she being hiden?

it was too hard and too much for her to comprehend, she would say it again, and as the morning would break across the waterfront, she would deny to herself as much as to the world that those kind of things happen to her.

"we grew up way too fast, and now there's nothing to believe. and reruns all become our history. a tired song keeps playing on a tired radio, and i won't tell no one your name, i won't tell your name."- name, the goo goo dolls.