What it’s like to be singled-out based on statistics

The feel of sand between my toes is like tiny cities crunching beneath my feet. I imagine the people screaming under the mass of my body, though I’ve been considered “dangerously underweight” by every doctor on the East coast. The people in these cities are crying for help, running from the giant, hiding from impending destruction, but I stomp on their homes. I always wondered why it was so windy on this beach everyday, yet I never saw any sand flying through the air-
tiny houses full of tiny people lifting from the earth.

Dunes stay grounded in piles until noisy children bury themselves in them, or move the sand to form castles, which are really just tiny countries full of tiny houses full of tiny people that I seek to destroy. I suddenly realised that the screams I heard were not beneath me, but all around me-
children in bright bathing suits running toward the waves, as if they could never be stepped on.

I envy their carelessness, their uninterrupted joy for living. Turning away, I cover my exposed skin and wander these beaches in search of new cities.

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What it’s like to be loved by you

I’ve been running for as long as I can remember because I forgot when I started. I forgot where, too. My feet are pounding against pavement like secret code. I inhale fire. There are ashes in my lungs, and exhaling only brightens the coals. The sun rests in my throat and I long for a finish line. My ears pick up breath some distance behind me. I don’t dare turn my head, but I know it’s you- I can tell from the heaviness in your gaze. Exhaustion begins to consume me, but you’re sprinting like hell. We’re side by side now and our shoulders polarise like moon to tide. You’ve always said slow was never an option, but it wasn’t until this moment that I realised, for you, I wouldn’t mind coming in second.