I sprint everywhere go, but maybe this time there’s nothing chasing me.
I’ve lived life in a race.
I have to be there first, as if that’s even anything to serve.
Maybe it’s the child in me.
And her little obsession on winning.
Maybe there’s also where I lost my track of time.

I’m running amongst the walkers and I’m beyond proud and so is everyone around.
The faster it starts the faster it ends; was a phrase tailored just to fit me perfectly.
I walk so fast, I got that from my family.
I talk so fast, I got that from my daddy.
I panic fast, I think that one’s on me.
And somehow that grew twice as fast ironically when I met the slowest man.

He speaks in a way I couldn’t.
He thinks in ways I wish upon.
But we both walk very fast, and that was enough for me to think we’re made for each other.
By the first week people have thought we’re going to marry each other, my people.
I check fast and I type fast.
He’ll always notice the mistakes on my text.
He never had any letters that shouldn’t be where it was.
Funny thing is, we both cherish and honour time in a different way.
I rush so I don’t disrespect the time.
He takes his time, so he’ll appreciate the time.

Now I could see the finish line with my naked eye and so can he.
There’s not a single person in our sight, I know we would win and so does he.
I check up on him every passing second just to see a sight of someone walking at a normal pace.
Almost as if to him this was just an evening stroll in the woods.
And I’d take glances at my legs, running, sprinting, moving so fast it looks like I’m floating to the finish line that seems like an eternity.
I wanted to be out the woods as soon as I could.
Whilst he admires the beauty of the trees and the hills.
I don’t think I’m being chased this time, so how do I tell myself to stop?