I ride my bike just about everywhere.
the subway in the summer feels like a test I don’t need to take, and honestly, it adds up. so I ride. from lower Manhattan back to Flatbush, it’s about an hour. twelve miles, give or take. just me and the street and the city pouring past.
those rides have become more than a way home. they’re part ritual, part release. a place to notice things and turn over old feelings, or shape stray thoughts into lyrics. sometimes I leave the city with nothing on my mind and arrive in Brooklyn with the start of a song.
the other day, crossing the Manhattan Bridge, I started thinking: none of us will ever get to see it all. not all the towers that will one day reshape the skyline, not every new restaurant, or style, or shift in the culture, or the breakthroughs in medicine, in tech, in space, and in art. the future keeps unfolding just ahead of us, and we’re only here for a piece of it.
but what we do get, what we’re given in our time, is the part that really matters:
the love we feel, and the purpose we chase. the quiet moments of kindness and connection. the way we choose to show up for ourselves and for each other, right now.
we each get a chapter. and what gives it weight isn’t how much plot we witness. it’s who we love in the pages and what we fight for. how we change. and what we leave behind, marked softly in the margins.
I’ve been thinking about my chapter. I’m still in the early pages, but it got messy fast.
some choices took more from me than I meant to give. some nights I wandered and disappeared from myself. I’m learning how to stay and to be gentle with what’s still healing. some nights, I can follow the light more easily: just a mile at a time, make it home, and dream a little better.
I wrote a song called e FLAT about one of those rides home. it’s about looking for something I haven’t found yet, but hoping it might find me anyway.
e FLAT riding my pawn-shop bike/resurfacing Brooklyn side/E Flat wind feels alright/tripping how you kissed me hard/outside the party tonight/I was so depressed & ugly/but Saturday’s keeping it all the way live/& I keep thinking, this is me, this is me/like I’m trying to believe it/like I’m going to dream it/new dream in bad ones tonight

Leave a reply to Willie Torres Jr. Cancel reply