Let it be me

Biking through organized cracked cement structures towards the strike of 12, everything washed in a thin orange haze, and that is me. My silence is the sound of the wheels of my bike hitting these cracks and bumps, the imperfections that make us human. It's these imperfections that makes moments like this perfect, pressure on both legs, the wind on my face, and the rush of people, of life around me.

Let the city be my heart, the cars the blood cells, the streets my veins, and the buildings my structure. Let the life of an concrete block be my liver to wash out my bad thoughts. Let the people be me, and me to be the people.

I am just like everyone else, and everyone is just like me, and that's what makes me different.*