A man runs in a sunny park with a city skyline, as a woman watches from behind a tree, in an illustrated style.
The story of a man who tried to outrun himself.... noticed by a woman. There was once a man who lived like he was on fire, not in a poetic way, glowing oh his thriving way, more like he needed to burn something o... Regret? Memory? Guilt? The kind of ache you can't name, so you call it discipline instead. He ran, he swam, cycled like he was being chased.... by his history maybe. He didn't sleep much, stop much, didn't have room for softness.... not really. BUT OH, HOW PRECISE HE WAS! Loyal to routine, faithful to pain. He counted macros like rosary beads, drank green things like pond water, shook his head at other people's food like moral failing. People said he was strong, driven. Maybe people clapped at finish lines, appraised his jawline, but they didn't see the whole picture.... I did.... Not because i tried to analyse him, not because i wanted to save him, but because i know what it's like to armour up and call it progress. And so, i saw it... no arrogance, not vanity, not really.... But a man who couldn't stop pushing, for fear that he might fall apart. And even on all that eort, there was depth. A stillness that he didn't trust. Humour that slipped out sideways. Care that showed up in strange places. Maybe sentimental, always PRECISE. He didn't always get it right, who does? But everything he does, he does with his whole chest. He was not soft, but he was real. Underneath all that control, there was a heart, that was trying to beat into it's own rhythm. And here is See more
