They say I could turn off the light and be in bed before the room got dark.
A joke, maybe. But I moved so quick the dust couldn’t keep up.
I kept to the edges, where the crowds were thinner—where the cheers took longer to find the fence. Home was never far.
Not when motion made more sense than waiting.
They etched my name, long after the field went quiet.
If you find it, don’t blink.
