There's something exhilarating about running at night as my bare feet pad one after the other on the rough cement of the sidewalk. Faint whooshes of wind pierce the night from the main road as cars rush by, their lights briefly illuminating the street corners before disappearing into the dark. My hair flies out behind me as I come one step closer to taking off into the stars. I am weightless. I am faster than the cars, than the planes, than the wind itself, and the shadows cannot catch me.
My feet leap over the curb and picking up speed as they hurry across the road, swerving between a parked car and a petite rose bush as they fly onto the opposite sidewalk, through the cool grass and ascend rapidly up the low, wide brick stairs to the front door. I descend to earth, the lock clicks open, and I bid the night goodbye. I suddenly weigh a thousand pounds, the air that was so trivial moments ago rushing into my lungs, my face reddening, my flight over.
The cool night air is replaced by a smothering house, and I perch by the window, greedily drinking in the last of the refreshing breeze, before finally shutting the window and letting another summer night slip away.