He has no formal training or proper clothes, but he does it anyway, in any direction, as fast as he can.
He’s running away from a mom that moved to Cuba with her new boyfriend, from a father that works in another city, from a stepmother who kicks him out of the house when she has people over, from two grandmothers that cover everything up with food and from her younger sister, who is growing more quiet, sadder and skinnier every day.
He runs from high school too, because school suddenly seems so small.
He runs, pretending problems are a place he can leave behind.
He runs, hoping moving fast will also make him grow faster.
He runs, not noticing us trying to stop him.
He runs, he’d fly away if he could.
And i only hope he’s not that far away, the day his legs and his heart finally give out.