sometimes the handlebars are underground
and the only way to find the map is to go back to the liquor store and make a different decision
that’s where they found us
trading in an old life
for free will and laughter
the choice to make our own mistakes
instead of suffer the consequences of theirs
their boots shook the ceiling
the threat of return to where we used to be
sending blood through our veins in a fiery dance
because we knew
there was no going back
we found the back door beneath the closed sign and ran, never looking back
if we did
perhaps they’d convince us to stay, that we didn’t need our tongue anyway
and our eyes would only mislead us
we could use theirs
for a price
but no
we ran, eyes firmly on the blurry promises ahead of us
hand in hand, because getting lost is so easy
when all the signs forgot their arrows
it was only when we made it past the river
under the cover of the places they call forbidden
knowing full well
(they always knew the truth)
our cure resided here
it’s only then we realized
we can breathe fire
and hear the trees
whispering in darker hues of blue
**this micro story was named by a patron 🖤
