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September 15, 2012
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The wind pulling at my hair,
Music blaring, gears creaking.
I'm standing tall, i will not fall.
A smile on my lips, so familiar.

These short trips,
short, short, short, thought-filled trips.

I would not trade for the world.

Once i get home, i lay across my floor.
Arms and legs spread.
Lungs fighting for air.
Music still blaring, my limbs taunt and sore.
I close my eyes and take a drink of relaxation.

The short, short, short trips.

I would not trade for the world.
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