Posted by: SPT | October 27, 2010

Stationary bike

Desperate times have passed me, but this time I was not idle. I feel afraid that I can no longer keep watch of my wrists, for they are tied at the moment.

Crippled like a handicap, I feel the ceiling is my limit. With injured limbs, I crawl about, feeling for direction. To stand up would be a feat, but with such devastation at my feet, it’s impossible to feel the balance within me.

Days pass, and easily they combine forces. Now weeks have passed, and they too unite. A year seemed so long, distant from the present, but as time elapses, I see the years running laps around me. Relay style, they tag as a team, working in unison. Days into weeks, and weeks into years, I wonder, “How many laps equal a month?”

Picking a pace, because I’m all too familiar with the finish line being out of sight, I just move. The hardest decision, for it repeats itself often, is to keep going. I feel the pounding force weigh in, just as gravity does, but I question its impact on my knees; my lungs, even, as they breathe. Am I bottling the world, placing pressure on the contents inside, or is my carbonated approach simply my way of living life?



  1. A great article. Thank you

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