A young girl runs, as far as she can, as fast as she can. No, not because she does cross country or track but oh my, she’s a runner, that’s for sure. What’s her name you ask? No, that’s not important. Everyone calls her Jessie, when they call her, but that’s not often anyways, so, it doesn’t really matter. She’s suffering, not by lack of air; she has plenty of air in her lonely isolated world but rather suffering by the weight pushing her down. She’ll never admit it but the pressure is beginning to build up and slowly weakening her frail body, day by day, second by second. She tries her best to do everything right; go to school, get good grades, come home, pretend like everything’s alright, take care of little Joe and Sarah, as well as Mom but yet nothing is good enough. Mom is way beyond help, we can admit that now. All hope of fixture has been lost within the track of time. Yeah, she’s physically there, half of the time, but that’s it. Dad? Who knows where he went. No matter how much she fakes it and tries to be normal she realizes she has to face reality and isn’t normal and never will be. She stopped trying to fit in years ago. After all, there is too much responsibility for that. She’s only pretty sure she can’t take much more but that doesn’t stop her, oh no, nothing will. She’s determined to keep going until it kills her. Her eyes are always lost in a mixture of feeling unable to be conquered, dark circles surrounding the pain. Her body is lacked of many things including life, love, trust, structure, and security. Her bones stray to the surface as it outlines her bones. She’s completely drained of any happiness. She is exhausted but never stops running. That is the only thing keeping her alive. She can barely breathe, but that doesn’t matter. All the pain, lies, and secrets swirling around make it a giant effort to even breathe. It feels like a knife cutting through her chest each time a word tries to come out so she makes no effort to talk. She feels heavier than ever as if she’s carrying weights around her ankles leaving each step a mere struggle, trying to keep her down. She’ll never be like you and she knows it but one day she will be happy. That’s a promise she made to herself that won’t get broken. She’s afraid to love or to be loved because she’s unsure of the meaning. She doesn’t want anymore let downs. Who gets what they want anyway though? She feels different than anyone else but then again everyone has their own secrets buried deep inside them right? Hers may seem more complicated but they’re all just secrets. She is not willingly to share her secrets, not even with herself so she runs. That’s all she’ll ever be is a runner, a runner from all the pain.