Time heals all wounds. This too shall pass. Nothing lasts forever.
Most wounds do heal. But, scars remain. The wind blows a certain way and a reminder of the wound inexplicably bubbles to the surface.
I grit my teeth. I close my eyes. I breathe deeply and exhale slowly.
The reminder of wounds past slowly fades away into the ether. But, the scar remains. The pain will never totally go away.
I am left to do the only thing I can. Simply manage it. Mantras help.
They are ghosts. They are phantoms. They are not real.
I tell myself this. Most of the time I believe it. Most of the time, it is true.
But, sometimes the pain comes like a force of nature.
The wound, the bruise, the haymaker no longer feels long past. It feels like it just happened.
The mantras fail. The breathing can't exorcise the phantoms. They own me.
When the pain overcomes me and the mantras fail, I fly. The past can't keep up. Ghosts and phantoms aren't swift.
They are slow, plodding, and weak. I am swift, strong, and alive. They are a faint memory. I am real.
The pain ebbs. I flow. What matters is what lies in front of me. This moment, this stride, this mile is all I have.
The pain drifts away becoming distant and fuzzy. It devolves into a vague heaviness. Then, it fades out like a dying star.
The memory of it is there. I know where it used to reside. I always will.
Time does not heal all wounds. Neither does running. But, a few miles is the best placebo I know.
I run because I need to let it go...