I dream of running (and flying--but we all do that, I suppose), running as fast as the wind. But the pain doesn't pierce my chest, nor do my calves scream out their resistance. In my dreams, I am a flame, afire with the passion of the chase.

A secret name belongs to me when I run in the night: I am Jackrabbit, and she is me, but more than me. She is everything I'm not, everything I wish to be--beautiful and brave, heroic and free. As Jackrabbit, I run from the bitter darkness that threatens to engulf me--the loneliness, the longing, the unrequited love, the failure that I see myself to be. I run from it all as fast as my will can carry me, flat out like I've got a pack of wolves on my heels.

And the darkness I outrun, the darkness I hold at bay...it cannot touch me because I am a flame, flickering but alive.

I dream of running almost every night.