Jenny Lewitzky // TEMPORARILY FOREVER

One glance back lets me know
That they are gaining on me
Quickly.
Too fast for my comfort
Or my safety.
One gasping breath later,
I make it to the edge
Of the skyscraper’s rooftop.
Closing my eyes, I
Jump,
Forcing myself
Not to picture the gravel
Of the dark alley below
Flying upwards,
Eager to meet my flailing form.
I roll forward on the impact,
Cringing at the
Expected pain that shoots up my
Ankles.
All I am aware of
Are three words of command:
Must
Keep
Running.
Twenty feet away,
My mother chuckles as she
Watches her three children
Chase each other and
Leap over piles of branches
That had been blown into the street
After a rainy, blustery night.
She watches with a smidge
Of jealousy
As her daughter suddenly
Gasps and jumps over a tree branch,
Giggling and screeching about how she
Must
Keep
Running.
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