I went on a run at four in the morning.

I didn't make a great time - it was actually pretty terrible for me - but it felt good and... different this time. It felt different because it felt the same.

Working nights meant trading away prime time day hours to run while the air tastes like sunshine and the world is awake around me. It meant shaking my body of whatever aches came with a job on my feet and strapping up shoes, my phone and keys to a belt, my headphones up, and gone onto pavement. Night air tastes different too - wetter, usually, and somehow dark like wine or good honey.

Sometimes, a car would pass, but I'd never see a soul and I liked it that way.

And it was like that at four this morning too. No souls. Only a few cars and the yellow warmth of street lamps lighting the sidewalk and me. The world could have been dead and I wouldn't be any the wiser.

I ran straight into a diamond-bubble of time, unmarred and unshaken by the world around it. It might have felt close to how some feel when they go into a church - serene and sacred and as precious as every other blessing I get to experience. For a few moments, I could feel alive and happy for it, instead of anxious with the hint of fear on my tongue.

And I'm silly and a geek - I listen to a story focused on being a scavenger amidst the zombie apocalypse, a human whose sole good to their entire world is that they can run with a good heart beat and legs that won't give out. Tonight a segment played in the story... Something probably four years old, something fictional, and yet somehow seemed to snatch itself through time like a ghost to speak.

"Even in the apocalypse, we can have some comforts."