Remember that summer, pumping pedals until our legs threatened to walk back, crawling up our mountain to nowhere? Cresting the top, the only thing before us endless waves of golden ocean. No shore in sight, we held hands, sailing into the future our parents wanted to thresh with a scythe. Later, dead petals stuck in my spokes, I punished my leaden legs, forcing them back up that hill. Our sea lay fallow, and no amount of my sweat or tears could ever fill it. And out there, out there you stood on a shore. Too far for me to see.
About the Creator
Sean A.
A happy guy that tends to write a little cynically. Just my way of dealing with the world outside my joyous little bubble.
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