You run toward tomorrow's promise, feet bleeding on today's thorns.

The horizon retreats with each desperate step.

Happiness, that mirage shimmering just beyond reach.

Stop. Turn around.

See the garden you've been trampling in your mad dash toward somewhere else.

The very seeking is the trap. The very wanting is the wound.

What you chase lives quietly in the space between your desperate breaths.

Rest here. Let the hunt end.

Watch how peace was never hidden.

You were simply running too fast to notice it walking beside you all along.