I like to run.
No one knows I’m leaving. Not yet.
I go to get my shoes for a run, to get once last look of the place before I leave it behind to start again somewhere else.
But my shoes are gone. I scour the area nearby but found nothing.
But there is a pair of shoes on the lawn.
They are well-worn and knew they were mine. But the laces are untied, shredded at the ends. I find a note inside the shoe that reads: You always run from your problems. But what if these become untied?