Okay so i am trying to write a better paper than my teacher dont ask why any I want to know if you think this is good. Good for a professional writer not good for an eight grader. Or if you think it is bad for a professional writer tell me to but dont compare it to eighth grade writing even if it sounds like eighth grade writing cuz I could care less if it is good by those standards (sorry I cant think of how to word that without sounding rude again sorry just trying to express that i dont want it compared to most student writing, sorry again)
Any suggestions are appreciated I am open to any new ideas for it and if any one has an idea for a title let me thanx ahead a time, if you actually are going to read all of this then you are amazing

Running, running, running, but from what,—no, not what—who? Who am I running from? And now that I’m all alone why am I still running? This is why, I think,—answering my own question. I am running from myself. What part though, body or soul? Both, I am running from both I decide,—but to where?—a place of nonexistence where nothing is necessary because nothing is anything. That is where I am running and that is why I still have yet to succeed my journey, for if I did these thoughts would not be running through my head, running. The thoughts are “running” through my head, just like I am running through the darkness of night.
My heart is beating faster every second and each breath is becoming harder to breathe than it is to hold back the tears I am so longing to cry. I feel as if I am in a nightmare where I am being chased by fear itself—I cannot run fast enough. I push harder and harder until I collapse to the ground in my fruitless effort to run away from the tears, and more specifically myself. I sit there in the middle of the street at midnight—my arms wrapped tightly around my legs—trying to curl up into a ball so small that I disappear completely—as if I never existed at all.
By now I can clearly feel my heart beating through my chest and my breathing has turned into gasps for air,—hoping that the oxygen will fill the emptiness in my chest—as I look around at the night, engulfing me in a sea of darkness. The lump in my throat is becoming stronger and stronger, and pools of tears form at the rims of my eyes. I give in alas; allowing the tears to roll rapidly down my checks, and the sobs to burst aloud as all self-control is destroyed with the moon as the only witness to my defeat.
When I gain some form control back, I stare up at my witness, shining brighter than love in a land of war. Love, I think to myself, giving someone the ability to destroy you completely with nothing but trust in them that they will not. However, more commonly than not their expectations are breached, and all that’s left is memories, memories and heartbreak that is. Yet, wouldn’t the greater heartbreak be to never have experienced love at all? To have not even memories as reminders that love and pure joy does exist. To not even have a single memory of a moment of pure joy to carry one’s self through the hardships of life. Maybe, just maybe, if I had an experience of pure love, pure joy, tonight wouldn’t be so painful.
I look down the abandoned street, no cars, no bikers, no dogs, and no skateboarders. It is just me, the streets, the darkness, my witness, and my overwhelming pain. The only thing reminding me of the reality of this moment is the cool nighttime breeze blowing gently through my hair, against my skin—sending quick shivers down my spine, and goose bumps along my limbs. Unfortunately, this light chill isn’t enough to cure the numbness, so I begin biting my lip, softly at first, then I start biting down harder and harder to get the same adrenaline as the first time ‘till I finally am convinced that this is real and I really an here.
I try to tell myself to be afraid, for running in the street at midnight should bring fear upon any sane person,—though I am a little less than sane—but it does not. I feel safe for the first time in a long time. I am hidden from any lingering eyes there may be in any nearby homes, hidden from any judgment what-so-ever. I finally begin to uncurl myself from my tight ball and lie down on the cold cement road. I then close my eyes and just listen to the soft symphony of the night. The crickets, the frogs, the owls, all singing in harmony—these are the sounds of true peace, so as I listen I forget for a moment how much pain and destruction there really is in the world.
The symphony begins to drone into the background as I feel my body drift into unconsciousness, as I become lost in my thoughts while lying there. I realize the ridiculously high level of danger I am putting myself in by doing this,—running in the street at midnight is one thing, but now I am sleeping in the street—but once again, I do not care. Peace of mind has finally come upon me and I will hold it hostage for as long as possible. I no longer feel the
need to cry, scream, or for anything. I…I…
I assume I dozed off, because it’s as if I have just woken up. Wait. Or am I still asleep? I am no longer sure. My body feels numb,—in a physically sense, not emotional this time—and the only thing I can hear besides a slowing beating noise—possibly my heart?—is a sharp ringing in my ears like nothing I’ve ever heard before, an octave higher than the human ear can normally hear. Though more strangely, I now am in total darkness. No more than a second has passed and I now see a faint light, inching closer and closer, getting brighter and brighter, and the beating sound slurs, and then suddenly stops altogether. I realize that the light isn’t coming to me; I am going to it, running to it though I cannot feel myself moving. I feel a smile of pure joy spreads across my face as I realize what is happening. I keep running, running, running, and then finally take one last step into the oh-so-welcoming light.