Dips, spins, highs and lows -
We hold on.
We breathe.

Sometimes with white knuckles,
Sometimes with closed eyes,
Sometimes in silence,
As the world screams by.

We reach for hands that steadied us,
Only to find them gone,
Or changed,
Or to tired to grip back.

There are moments
We feel weightless - like we could fly,
And others
Where gravity presses hard,
And we wonder if we'll ever ride again.

Still, we ride -
Because hope whispers,
Because memory anchors,
Because something in us refuses to let go.

We are bruised,
But not broken.
Changed,
But not lost.

And in the quiet between loops,
We glimpse beauty:
A kindness,
A laugh,
A light we forgot we had.