Ye Could Run Well

Written by Michaela Emanuele Pastoriza

I pray that I will no longer be afraid of goodbyes; where there’ll be no more grief that comes with waving my hand, leaving memories alongside my footprints that I will retrace no more.

It’s true that it’s impossible to be stuck forever in the same place, but what is the consequence of wanting to stay in a place that is no longer yours? I box myself in reality, waiting for the beasts to gnaw at me after dragging myself into an asylum—after promising me paradise.

I dried and drained myself fighting demons that continuously strip my courage and freedom away from me: freedom to hold, freedom to own, freedom to be. Days continue to taunt me, as if mocking me for having dared to dream. It feels as though I am in the infernal regions of the dead, a nuisance in my own avenue.

For when can I own my own? How long will I forever be reminded of the haunting past that always tightens its grasp around my neck? How long will I continue to chase the paradise promised to me, only to end in a fiery pit?

I pray that I will no longer be afraid of goodbyes; where I can stand at my threshold, not taking my eyes off the angels turning their backs on me, and breathe a sigh of relief. I pray that I could finally run well, where I can no longer feel my heart aching, and hold onto something that is finally my own.