Sweat Therapy

I sweat. I ran through the night and sweat. The rain had formed little pools on the concrete where the lights of passing cars and tall buildings were reflected. The city was loud but I didn’t hear it. There was a pounding in my ears, but it wasn’t the sound of cars and gawking tourists. And there was a pounding in my feet as each step struck the ground. And there was a pounding in my head, but not the kind Advil could kill.

I sweat, and in each drop that fell from my skin there was a bit of a burden leaving. In this drop a bit of pain. In this drop a bit of frustration. In the next drop an ounce of unfulfilled longing, so that scattered through the dark streets of Barcelona were pieces of my burden, left on the pavement to evaporate, to leave me, to die.

And I returned home, lighter, but not yet buoyant.