armanson
Two wheels on the asphalt. Legs pumping to the rhythm of the road. Nothing but air and pure humanity to keep muscles working in overtime burning oxygen at a rate faster than the speed of sound.
He was a gentle man. One with soft hands, but a hard heart. One he kept carefully wrapped in perfect cellophane on display but never to touch.
I visited you today. Not physically, never physically, but mentally, spiritually, and all the other ways but physically. I visited the way you used to struggle to find words, the way you always had that "tip of the tongue" syndrome, and I could never uncover the right words for you.