When you took those rusty,
broken training wheels
out of your childhood suitcase,
and held ‘em up high
to the light, you knew
you’d hear another
hopeless sigh.

Such vaguest recollection
of how to ride a bicycle was so dreamlike.
How odd was it to not remember
what you knew?

You recalled how each night
you went to bed telling stories
you could barely remember
in the morning was a dreamer’s

And as you retired
to the same bed that night,
believing you had never actually
ridden one, you could hardly tell
that was another story.

© Gheeneil


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