In a race—like on sports day. He was winning but didn’t want to be. And he’d have this dread. Of getting to the finish line, knowing there’d be this white ribbon across it, and that when it broke across his chest, that would be it. But then you’d appear in the crowd. He said he always felt so happy and relieved you’d come. He’d run backward to try to stay level with you, but then, no matter how hard he fought it, he’d be pulled toward the ribbon anyway. But he wasn’t scared anymore.
