I knew one day the fuel would run out. It was not just a way of living, it was life. The smell of leather, petrol.
I’d disappear for weeks, I’d cross countries. There was nothing and there was no one that could give me that kind of freedom.
There comes a time, though, where you slowly need to downshift to low gear, then you put it to neutral. Click, click, click, and the motor comes to a halt.
A series of lucky accidents brought you to my life, my complete opposite. I wanted you to wear the wind in my beard somehow, now that as the only child of my child becomes an adult.
I ripped up what covered me, so you would have a piece of me, to wear around your neck. Wear what I wore, and carry what I have.