Mile Two

Mile two and something

cracked open.

The burn in my legs

stopped being something

I was doing wrong

and became just

burning,

just the fact of being here,

just my body

knowing what to do

without me watching it.

My breath matched my steps.

My mind stopped

narrating.

The sidewalk I've run past

a hundred times

suddenly had texture,

had cracks,

had weight.

Sweat between my collarbone bones.

The specific ache in my hip

that I'd forgotten was me.

The wind that wasn't about me,

just happened to be there.

For the first time in months,

I was inside this thing.

Not watching it.

Not judging it.

Just moving.

And I thought: oh,

this is what it feels like

to come home.