Mercury is running.
Too much, too fast.
He’s trying to catch himself.
He knows nobody will do it for him.
He’s racing, hoping that the speed stops the heat or soothes the burn.
He can’t take the fever. He’s not like my sun or my Jupiter, he’s the opposite.
He’s not running from something, he is running toward something.
He’s not scared, he’s desperate.
He’s dizzy. All the heat and running take their toll on him.
He wants someone to catch him, but his gravity is too low to pull anybody close.
No one ever stays.
He never stays still long enough to rest.
As tiring as it is, he still needs the movement, the distance.
If he touches, he knows he’ll burn.
- yet he touches anyway. I hope it hurts.