Oh, look. A golden slipper.

Do I give my heart too quickly? Too easily?


And then I am just another statistic. Another number, another name, another something for you to throw around to impress everyone. Just like you impressed me, but now it's just exhausting. 


So I've tossed my heart and my soul in another direction -- of course I've given my heart; what was I supposed to do with it? Keep it inside of me? -- and I think that maybe if I never, ever, ever stop running, never stop going, never stop singing or moving or making everyone else look perfect, then you can never catch up with me. You can never catch up with me. You can't even hinder my progress.


Because look at me: Look at what I have achieved.


I am untouchable and invincible and unstoppable. I am running on empty, but I don't need anything to fill me up. And look at them! Look at how beautiful they are! I did that.


I have a million words and a thousand costumes and a whole lot of hair. Try and catch me now.


I don't even know what adjective I'm looking for.
All my love,
Addy