Runners high

Tried to describe emptiness yesterday on your lap. my therapist gets that look in her eye, and then I know she thinks I'll crack. I think she suspects me to get up, to crawl back, or to plainly tell her that I'm sad.
Went on a run three times this week. held up by rain, the feeling that won't let me sleep. my therapist asked whether I still know myself. I said, yes, I feel the aching in my legs.
I slept in your bed, and then in mine. I imagined my mothers weight, her as a silent judge beside. she has a similar stare mastered, you know. she thinks I am okay, even when I tell her that I
Couldn't feel the aching in my chest but I did feel the stones under my shoes. I like the way I feel untethered in my limbs when I do go. I like the wind and every silhouette. I like the feeling that I get.
Crossed my legs at the office last friday around noon. Three thirty every week, trying to word the same predicament she told me that I had. The words came easier to you. I had tried to name a feeling that I instinctively knew.
When the road tilts black and blue, when I start humming inside, and when I do;
That's what it might be like for you.