Nothing ever ends poetically. It ends and we turn it into poetry. All that blood was never once beautiful. It was just red.

I twist like a flower
at the sound of your voice
But you leave the receiver
static most days
You have me growing into a dial tone

All it would take is your voice
saying my name
And I would behead myself
to be carried around on your lapel

I knew she'd pull hard for the first two miles or so, and I'd have to catch her at the end. I knew I couldn't lay back. If I wanted to be good, I had to push it.

Freshman year, that's all it was. I would go in and just train and everything. Once I saw how good I was, I thought this could get competitive. I didn't get into the whole competitiveness until this year as I saw my times improve and I was so close to so many good runners.