I’ve never before wanted to physically run from a situation. I’ve never really been the kind of person who runs from anything. I prefer to stew and rub the pain in, see what I’m really made of and emerge to revel in my own personal edification. But this was different. I actually felt the urge to run, to pick up my feet and put as much distance between myself and that situation as possible. Does this make me a coward? If I were to really ask myself this, I’d say yes, but who could blame me? This was the first time in a while that the pain wasn’t artificially thought up by my own damaged psyche—I was assaulted in the heart and didn’t know how else to deal besides throw on a deceiving smile and hurry out the door. And I was shocked to find my heart beating so fast, so taken off guard to find it urging my feet to run at the same speed. I’ve never felt this way before, and I have nothing to do except get over it.