I need this faith to keep me walkin'

"Babe, oh baby, you stopped movin' way back there."

So crucial, the relentless forward momentum. Or, even, the gentle backslide. Movement — no matter the direction — at all costs, for a body at rest tends to stay that way, and while inertia may not necessarily be a leading cause of death, it most certainly is a leading symptom of it. They say life is a race, and you can bet your bottom dollar that death has laced up and is wearing a bib just like the rest of us... like a wickedly macabre retelling of the tortoise and the hare, you can outrun him, but he can outlast you. Surely I am not the only one chilled by the grim reaper's breath on my neck, panicked and driven ahead by his taunting cackle — and to think I once embraced those ghoulish advances. I suppose as a fellow past-lover, you are in morbid company. Now he follows me closer than ever before, nipping at my heels and as desperate to rekindle that old flame as I am to rekindle ours. I wonder which of us will succeed first? My bets are on him, but all of my hopes are pinned on me. So until that dark love can be reconciled, until these sentiments are openly requited, I am praying for this perpetual motion to keep me alive.