The pages were there; waiting, following along on the journey. They were there, empty, silent. Words waited, quietly watching. Listening to the sound of the wheels turning on black pavement. Lines gently bubbling to the surface, falling back. Searching, longing for the right ones to come.
The empty saddle of the bike that started it all; a symbol of why we were united there in the bright sunlight. So many, too many, touched by a loss that refused to be forgotten. Words of remembrance, names carried on ribbons pinned on my back. Just letters and fabric, but so deep within my heart that I would not; could not stop; even as my body begged to.
Even the lyrics of songs eluded me, so rare for me. My mind was still as the miles stretched before me. Solemnly observing the meaning of the journey. Words would not come; no quiet whispers from blank pages, no longing to steal away to write. Too caught up in the rolling hills and distant mountains. The constant ebb and flow of riders passing and being passed. Awestruck by the significance of the here and now of it all. No lines drawn, no differences, no genders, no race. United in a spirit of shared purpose.
Now the words gently tug at my hand; keep me from sleep. My body is so tired, yet my mind is awake; tapping at the door, urging me to come out and play.
The words are jumbled; a puzzle to unearth. How to put in words feelings and thoughts of such a journey? They seem so small and insignificant in comparison. Yet, the longing is there. Longing to share even just a little piece of how your words were there with me instead. Pieces of memories, pieces of my life touched by so many. I carried you. I carried your stories, your well-wishes, your hopes, your spirit. It was your words that pushed me up those hills. That whispered so quietly I could not hear; but you urged me forward. Spinning, remembering, believing in the impossible.
My words waited and watched; knowing they were not needed there to comfort me. I was in the company of old friends.