"God, make me light. Make me like air so that I won't feel the pounding of my feet or my heart hammering pain and all the hurting lives held in my swirling mind."
Run. Run away. Run until you get to the still place where all falls silent and you feel as if you could fly. You hear your breath coming hard and fast, and you think of him lying on his bed far away. He said that he's only shed one tear. You picture him as you watch your face in the reflection of the t.v. screen at the top of the tread mill, and you see his eyes in yours. Your feet fly, and your heart flies these running thoughts of him that become prayers folding him into your arms again. Making him small again. Making him your little boy again.
You run and pray and breathe because...
Only God can help you hold on and let go at the same time.