she admired the plaques on the wall and medals hanging from striped and faded ribbons. each one had a story and he felt equally proud and uneasy relaying events to her, trying to make her understand the feeling in the pit of his stomach before a race, like a fist inside of him, growing and sending shivers and cold through his body, from the inside out, down to his toes, out through his fingertips. how even his jaw clenched and his heart beat faster waiting for the gun than during the run. studying a photo, he wondered what her thoughts were... maybe surprised at how dark his hair was, how twenty-five years can turn a runner's lean and muscular frame into a film critic's body.
he wondered if her respect and admiration for him today was contingent on his former glories. it's easy to be brilliant in the past.
skip to main |
skip to sidebar
No comments:
Post a Comment