When i leave the warmth and shelter of the place i reside and travel by bicycle for what seems like a million miles, just to get home so i can think and dream of the world when we ruled, those times belong to you.

I start by bundling up to protect from the cold. then i insert my earbuds to set the mood.

Then i put my feet in the the baskets of my bike and we blast off together like a rocket soaring down the street, weaving and dodging *** holes, arms spread wide like a bird in the night. half hoping that the bicycle might at some point, break apart from underneath allowing me take flight unrestricted, without worry for how i get back down to the ground.

then i travel back from the fantasy in my mind, all the way back to my eyes and i realize my house is within in sight. and my ride is over. and there's no one home. and i'll never take flight. and i fade a little on the inside.