The Freedom Rider.

summerlovesyou:

She always loved to ride her bike. It was the one thing that made her feel free. From the second she stepped onto the pedal, she felt a little more independence; a little more freedom. As she grew older, her legs became stronger and she was able to go farther and ride faster. With every down stroke of the pedal she felt the weight of the world falling right off of her shoulders and disintegrating into the ground right below her. If the world was a more physical place, the pain, depression, sadness, lack of freedom, lack of power and fear would no doubt be seen flying off of her in a long, dark stream that would quickly turn into an array of colors following directly behind.

She rode everywhere. When she was feeling distraught, she would ride to the trees. When she was searching for peace, she would ride to the waters. When she was searching for solace and strength, she would ride to the fields. When she was feeling lonely, she would ride to the people. She had a place for everything and everything had a place for her. When she would ride off by herself, she would cry. She cried because she was sad. She cried because she was happy. She’d weep because she saw a beautiful butterfly and she would sob because the pain would sometimes be unbearable. She cried because it made her feel. It didn’t matter if she was happy or not happy because crying was the one tangible feeling that she could see, feel, and taste and that in itself was a miracle. When she would ride to her place of peace she would find herself again. She could lie down on the grass with her bike next to her and feel herself sinking into the nature. The grass never judged her or pushed her away, but instead it welcomed her and her bicycle and gladly wrapped it’s small arms around her. It never asked her why she was there, but instead, it comforted her and reminded her of her significance and importance in the world. The water always gave her something to look at. It knew that the fish would comfort her and it would send them to jump. It gladly welcomed her and her bicycle to it’s calming sides. It never asked why she cried into it’s depths, but instead it accepted her tears and made them into something that she could believe was bigger than herself. The trees always loved her. They gladly allowed her to lean her bicycle against them while she would lie down next to them. They never asked her why she stared, but instead, as she gazed upon their beauty, they gazed right back. They looked her dead in the eye and reminded her of her insignificance and that she was not the only person in the world. The wind would gently sweep through them and dry her tears in the calmest of ways.The wind was always her friend. The wind was as close as her skin. While she was speeding down the road on her bike, the wind would carry her and nudge her further and further away from her home(from destruction). It would carry her to love and happiness. And when the time came to go home, it would force her a different direction, but it always knew what it was doing. It was helping her. It was keeping her away from more suffering.

Then there was her bike. It was always ready for an adventure. It was ready for her through heat, rain, wind and cold. It was always ready to welcome mud, water and blood. It was always there for her. It spent so much precious time with her comforting her and allowing her to get away from all the destruction. It helped her to get out into the world and breath again. It was her best friend and it alone never questioned her, but always was ready for her.

People would always ask, “where is she going?” and “when will she be back?” but the beautiful thing was that she never knew nor did she ever want to. She’d just smile and say, “I’m leaving and I’ll be back when I’m back.” And it was always true. She’d leave in search of herself everyday on that bike and everyday she would come back with a greater sense of worth and a little more wisdom. Nature understood her and her bicycle ushered her towards that peace of mind.

She would always over hear her mother ask her sister, “where is it that she goes? What is it that she does?” and her sister would reply, “I don’t know.” They never will.

via summerlovesyou

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