The weekend is here.
You wake up, get dressed, get comfy.
You pack a bad and the saddle bags with only what you need for unknown amount of days.
U hop on. The engine roars.
Riding down the highway, looking at everyone in the jam.
Noticing trees and how the air smells
You lift your visor, feeling the wind on your face, the breeze moving your hair.
You close your eyes, lifting your hands as if they were wings.
You imagine yourself lifted into the sky as if you are soaring.
That is freedom.
By Vy
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