Those rides

On those days, you're sitting behind a friend on a motorcycle, the wind is blowing through your hair and you feel amazing - I often catch myself wondering if that is the same feeling you get as a torn hoarding, fluttering high above the streets filled with a million eyes. Happy escapades reiterate human desperation for joyful attention and nothing comes close enough to beauteous feels that humans consistently attach meaning to.

I attach meanings of obsessive happiness and others may attach hopes and success to experiences stereotyped as happy or happening - forgetting in the very beginning that emotions and happiness are subjective and never meaningful.

A beautiful girl, with hair as beautiful as my own, goes for a similar bike ride, sways her hair to the murderous jealousy and lusts of unknown eyes but goes through an experience that removes all memory of the flying hair, all memory of the beautiful wind and splashes of water hitting her glowing face, and holds onto nothing but injuries.

And despite happier memories having a longevity that negative memories can never - endorphins are strong fighters against sadness - people in all corners and streets, hold onto the pain and hurt of broken hearts and morals, never letting the torn cuts achieve the beauty they are capable of, high flights and magnanimous winds that uplift and sway.

Scars and wounds have the hidden stories that create individuals. 

Lots of love and support to incidents that move and inspire.

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