speechless moment

today at a carpark in holland village i sat on a stranger's bike.

i only got on it for a bit of foolish fun, but once i held the handles, i felt a sharp pang. i felt a little bit like neo just waking up from the matrix, looking at new yet familiar things with ancient eyes i've never used for the first and umpteenth time. it was déjà vu.

it wasn't even the bike. it was an old school fireblade, never a favourite of mine.

it was the act of being on a bike. tank between my knees, throttle and clutch in my grip, feeling the wind, the vibration, and the purring engine as i ride through the night without a care.

i looked down at the bike, truly stunned. how did it inspire such a torrent of emotions?

i'd fooled myself into believing that a car's a good alternative.

it's safer than riding a bike.

it's good to hide in a car because this fucking country's so hot.

not to mention all the fucking rain.

driving's only safer than riding thanks to all the fucktards now driving pissing around on the roads.

it's good in a car? rain? fucking pussy-talk.

the very act of riding is an escape to me.

it's like i'd just rediscovered the joy and wonder of riding, and all too soon it's taken from me again. because i knew even at that moment that it would be a long long time before i got the chance to ride again. my heart felt shredded.

realistic figure? at least three more years.

argh.