track

Fall forward; fly, on gunshot.
Burning red track; intoxicate me.
Run, just run.
Smell of heated rubber; turn, stepping up.
Roaring stands; let the voices kick in.
Run, just run.
Dash ahead; last leg.
Bittersweet tears; sweat mingled, heart clenched.
That taste, dont ever forget.












I know, to label something written in 2009 as a memory of 2007 may seem strange. But still, stepping onto the track that evening as the sun dimmed upon me, nostalgia seeped in. I suppose, once you've ran on that circuit, you'll never forget.