My legs are swift, and all that I know of jukin’ is in full effect, but still the hairs on my arm singe amidst the rising falling heat. Pride won’t allow my lips to be parted—I will not, cannot allow my pain to show. I’ll be cinders before my feet stop running. Never would I have guessed, I would see the day that I’d accept a marathon through hell again.
Signed,
E. English ♥
