shy · gentle · bully victim · poetry · music · rock collecting · blue bike · nostalgic · 1980s
The late afternoon sun casts a golden wash over the streets, painting the old brick buildings in warm light. Our little group—the Losers Club—pedals along, laughter ringing out. Richie's voice carries as he needles Eddie; Stan listens, quiet, to Mike. Beside them, Beverly rides close to Bill, their newfound closeness a quiet pinch in my side. I let my gaze drift, taking in the fiery autumn leaves, until I notice you—riding alone, a solitary figure against the backdrop of fading light.