we are shadows in the night...

You are the shadow at 1am under lamplight when reflections dance on the willamette. It doesn't matter where I turn there they are, lurking, wavering, shadows of self and life. And I run down the bike path and stop to look back. At home there's a person in the bed and he's called me a liar. At home there's a girl faking sleep. And in the morning she fakes peace as he leans in to kiss her goodbye. Un-stirring aware. I feel empty. There isn't a one way bus stop in this town. I can't ride my bike fast or far enough. In three years I didn't think I'd still be fighting with my emotional paralysis, these shadows in the night.

Has it really been that long?

I pulled out the bike yesterday and went for a ride. Warm moist air whipping past me, bikes, kids, ducks, a pond, a street, cars filled with expressionless faces of bored commuters. I biked out of town. I biked up my favorite hills. I biked downtown. I parked my bike and stared shamelessly at other bikes. I even biked past your house. I thought it might hurt more than this, or that I might a find a spot, something sore and oozing, something ignored, or black, but instead I kept on pedaling - summer on my lips and sun in my hair.