Being a machine

For you who walked in different path and were wounded severely.

You ran with a set of suit completely black and blacked by dried blood. Together with calloused hands and dirtied collar, you held you sight high. You dragged your tired arms and legs without rest and ignored the pain along the way.

Your friends never knew your shape and name and yet you understood them all very well, bit by bit. You had to go and never even once you said you would come. Fulfilling promises was your thing and sadness never occurred on your face. Destiny was something you never thought about and yet you kept it.

At unknown frontier you stood and slept along with other fallen runner and you would be at another no man’s land at following day. Good night was not your wish and morning never came. Even you might be wondering if you were alive but maybe, that was not your primary concept. Between routines and being unpredictable, which was your trait?


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