Run.

Thin ice cold blades scraping your skin - feel the wind rush past you.
Nerves impulses giving jerks to your skull - feel the thumping in your head.
The bones in your toes grind against the ground but bounce back up, in vain - feel the light feet you have right now.
Digging deeper into the soil, your legs wrench your guts along - wow, you're fast.
The ribs swing in half circles, right to left and back, dragging your arms along - feel your body pushing all odds away to move ahead.

It's only your eyes - the betrayers.
Sitting in their sockets, they watch the world glide past. They tell you the rest is only mechanical. A natural part of the effortless endeavour of running.
So you obey them and you run. Run like there would be no end to it. Run like its the genius idea for survival. You run not because your afraid. You run because you no longer want to be afraid.
You think.
Because then you slam into the glass! The sides of your imagination's dome. The bottom to your fantacy's pit. "The reality check."
You hate that phrase, don't you? Because you can't run anymore, you can't glide further away from the burden of existence, the consequence of your being.

It's the cold, dead end to your addiction to illusion.

You slam against it and no matter how deep your legs dig into the ground, your chest just presses harder against the glass.
And then you feel it.
The heart inside.
Stubbornly beating like a mad beast trying to break out of a cage. Over and Over. Crying out loud about the reality of it's existence. Pumping it's pain, to every inch of your body. Forcing you to recognize every cell as your own.
You see it too, as your vision blurs and blood rushes to your head, blocking out all sounds.

And then you feel them.
The lungs, striving to drag out the bad, absorb the good. Breathing in life to push away death.
You hear it too. Your own breath. Deep, hard, cold. Almost like you've got company.

As you regain a sense of the whole of your body, the feeling of existence kicks in.
The feeling like you deserve to settle for a while, rest your aching muscles, warm the pricking skin.

The sense of comfort makes you "realise" maybe it's not the end after all. Maybe it's OK.
Because come to think of it, if existence were really a burden, the Almighty wouldn't torture you with it. It's a Blessing He has bestowed out of His Love for you.
And you love Him too, right? So it's easy to do what you must (and more) out of Love for Him.

And if the Faith is just about as much as you fear it to be, the distance to the other end of this glass dome is a long stretch....
Run.