At that moment, the wind stopped, and the hum of the engine became the only background sound.
I was waiting for the red light, also waiting to shed my disguise from the rush.
It turns out that riding itself is a form of meditation.
The switch between movement and stillness, the body moves forward, but the heart gradually becomes transparent.
Every light in this city is like a line of code,
Some run, some lag, and some are forever stuck in debug mode.
I suddenly understand that perhaps "balance" is not about mastery and control,
But about being able to sense the true frequency of breath in the space between pressing and releasing the accelerator.
Tonight, I do not chase the wind, nor am I pressed for time.
I am simply learning how to be quiet in the wind.