The Pattern.

He heard her before he saw her.

Recognition lied in the characteristic thuds of her rhythmic strides against the pavement.

He knew the pattern. Right foot, left foot, right foot, left. Full contact, then airborne. Reality in fragments. She was running for something. From something. To something. He didn’t know. But he knew that she knew. He could never completely apprehend the extent, the depth of the well that was her mind. She was not merely running; she was thinking.

The rapidity of her mobile limbs mirrored the internal fireworks-- the connecting and ending of nerves, the ripples of brain waves. The frantic interchange of ideas, reasons, explanations, questions.

Her mind was always faster than her feet. She was chasing her head. Trying to catch up… racing.

The thuds drew nearer, his heart pumped more blood. It had been four years. He still knew the exact contour of her shape; the outline of her shoulders, the glide of her stride. The rhythm. He knew the pattern. Right foot, left foot, right foot, left… The thuds drew closer still.

Tension. His chest tightened. His skin began to prickle with anxiety. His heart dizzied and danced with anticipation. Would she even see him? He knew her concentration was not easily broken.

He used to watch her. Observation reveals more than any detailed explication. He used to watch. He knew the pattern: eyes slightly glazed over, gaze fixated on something in the distance; She could see, but she was not looking. The world existed at the bottom of the well. Nothing on the outside could touch her.

He froze. He could feel her turn the corner. The air changed whenever she shared it with him.

The corner of his eye caught the blur of her existence. He dared not turn his head to get a full glance. What if she saw him? He wished it were possible to turn invisible. To not exist at all.

His eyes began to burn.

The hairs on his arms stood on end, straight, as if desperately attempting to eradicate his skin. His body tingled. Electricity.

Her runner’s heart rate was in sync with his panic. She was about ten feet away: only seconds remained. It had been four years. Closer-- right foot, left foot, right foot, left. He heard her hard breathing… he felt the vibrations in the ground from the weight of her body pounding the pavement, the pattern. Her pattern.

He stared at the ground, bracing. Muscles clenched.

For a split second, their feet touched the same ground.

And then she was gone.