Bicycle. 

Everything is about balance. 

You can be busy, but you will have to rest. You may be quiet, but you have to make sure that your voice is heard. You can love, but know the fine line of affection and obsession. 

You can ride a bicycle, but the only way to do so is to have balance between the left and right, the slowing down and the the rush as well as the drive to make the journey while keeping it leisure. 

When you have lost the balance, somehow, you can always pick yourself up and try again. That’s life, isn’t it? 

The constant trying, and the stubbornness to never accept failure. Unless you sprained an ankle, fractured a limb or hurt the strongest muscle in your body. 

It is good to take a break and walk away sometimes. 

We have slipped, and we cannot get back up. 

Our palms are stamped with road texture, stones that have lost their places and sweat. Our knees scraped, with blood painting red, sticky tattooes down our calves. Our eyes blinking back tears or sweat or the truth back down our cowardly hearts. 

And the bicycle. 

Broken, lying by its weak side but glorious under the hot sun – rusty gears, chipped paint and a brand that can no longer be read. 

It has lived, and now, it has died. 

But that is the nature of all things, and how the story ends each time. 

At least we have tried. 

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