he looks at her, perfection mirrored in her eyes, and sees only the pretty facade. she sees, and runs. he follows.
she wonders why he’s following her. he doesn’t see her the way she is; he doesn’t realise what he’s getting himself into. guilt seeps into her veins. she runs faster, but it only spreads.
he doesn’t know why she’s running. could this be the way she is, or is there a reason? is she scared, is she teasing? is she always going to run?…
when she gets tired she sits, closing her eyes and wishing he hadn’t followed. she knows that when he catches up, she won’t know what to do, or what to say. so she pretends that she’s happy. that she wasn’t running. that it was all a game.
when he gets there, his eyes are questioning. he plays along, confused, wondering how she could run one second, and be fine the next. he leans closer, hesitantly. she pushes him away.
she wonders if she’s sending out the wrong signals. she stops being happy.
he gets more confused. he forms the words on his lips, and begins to ask, but before he can, she whispers in his ear;
‘it’s not worth it.’