bluechameleon
consume me
Riding a new bike under old trees, trying not to think old thoughts about a new situation. Riding too fast for these slow legs, feeling light-headed under the dark clouds. Riding away from you but not toward me, riding against the wind but before the storm, riding empty of purpose but full of need.
And the hum of the tires is the sound of my thoughts.
And the pumping of blood is the sound of my need.
And my hope is a mute as the pavement.
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