Runaway.

Running. Away from the world, but still, running on it...

Thoughts are clarified, eyes are wet, chest is throbbing, muscles warm up, and then hurt... Because it's been quite long since you've felt so free a person. But it doesn't matter anymore.

There is no past. Nobody knows. Nobody knows you more than the man next door who's sitting on the bus station - the kind of man who is impatiently looking at his watch lest he has missed the last bus. No.

Be caring. Care for the things that are happening for you.

Running... Slowly, fast, faster, with nerve, stubbornness, tiredness, sadness...

The road can hear you.