Bicycle

i have been confined, for too long, in that box.
while convenience often dictates that i use it, the atmosphere stays the same the dirt under my feet is added to not taken away from and i suffocate from air that only recirculates on itself.

today, however, oh i am happy.

i leave the box behind. breathe real air, sharp on the tips of my ears and biting my fingers awake.  i am slower, for certain, but i observe.  the shadows left by buildings on the face of someone waiting for a bus.  the fresh bread being stacked by the window by a girl with tattoos up and down her arms.  her hair is half red half black held up with a bright orange kerchief, and when she smiles at me i see a small ring in her lip.  i keep going, whistling and free and open and soaring.  my legs are burning with elevation and tingling when i finally dismount.

how can i go back?
how can i be claustrophobic again?

i switch four wheels for two, and i am more alive.