You know how you always imagine how things will be? How people will act towards you? How you're going to pick up the pieces of yourself? Well, things never turn out the way you think they will. Reality always hits harder than you're ready for. One day you're someone, and the next, you're an entirely different person - the reflection of yourself in the mirror looks like a stranger. There's this part of me that wants to fight. That urges to. And then there's the one I've let myself become. I'm running away. Never facing myself. Drinking my way out of reality. Smoking to make my brain dizzy. But some nights are still crystal clear. And I can see the fighter in the mirror, telling me to stop running, to turn around, and to fight dirty, like I'm supposed to. Because if reality wants to stab me, I might as well take the blow from the front. I'm no runner.