Sweet Summer Sweat

Quietly and secretly, I strode along the road on a borrowed bike. The path winds through multiple neighborhoods, sometimes spitting into a highway or a park. I glided across the intersections, determined to reach my destination. I was poised to make my grand entrance. I had an idea of how to present myself, how to casually make my appearance, and even how to end the conversation.

My legs carried me through multiple miles, each time, driving through the peddle, and then forcing itself upward as quickly as possible to repeat its cycle. Every time the destination got closer, I drove a little harder, hoping the speed would hasten and I would get there sooner. Each moment of drawing closer to the place drew my mind towards making silly slideshows of how I wanted the scene to play out. Yet, I could only imagine what the real encounter would be like.

The sweat was pouring. I was determined to make it. I was going to make this trip worth my while. I'm getting closer, setting tire on common soil, when suddenly, an old friend appears. He crept around my head like a vine, covering my every crevice. My friend, good old Mr. Doubt, came in, stealing the show, and letting my know that this was not going to happen.

And as I reached my destination, doubt started to appear to have taken the W on this one. I was defeated, but not broken. The reason for my travels was no where to be found, and it looked as if I had to turn back home. My legs were filled with misery, only happy to make the same distance trip back, just so I could soak in my own shame. I guess, maybe next time, I'll try to let point b know of my intentions, rather than assume my ESP is working again.