I feel the melancholy in the

youth of my legs.  The missed

chances to run while

entertaining too much rest; my

past indifferences plague me.

I remember when I challenged

the wind, claiming no defeat or

tasting the vanquish of second place.

I open to the fondness of fleeting

victories, savoring the memories

that are only mine.


Now I feel the wind.  I welcome

the way it sweeps over my face,

teasing me, as I consider my past.





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