Just A Feeling
It’s just a feeling, a tingling in the toes. I pull them back and wriggle them around but the tingling remains. Very odd?
I decide to go for a walk marching around the neighbourhood like a demented crow all stiff-legged, feet pointing.
After a mile, I think my strange sensations gone. They haven’t. In a sneaky turn of events, the tingling has travelled up my shins, thighs and settled somewhere else. I wriggle like a bustling chicken. A woman crosses the road.
I walk faster now bordering on a run. If I can just shake it off. I stop dead. I’m turning into Taylor Swift! No, that can’t be right? Sprint.
I hurtle down the main street, turn into the alleyway that runs across the back of our terraces and in through the back gate. I’m knackered. The tingling has gone.
When I say gone, I am in fact lying in the hope it’s my brain carrying out a mentality check because I’m actually tingling all over. Every Richard atom is buzzing like an electrified fence, a hectic rush hour of life.
Life. That’s it. It’s just a feeling. A feeling that it’s good to be alive. I don’t want to run it off, to sprint away into the distance. I want to savour every second and tingle as long as I can.
Yes, it’s just a feeling. But I’m damn glad I’ve got it.