Is space a place? Or is it just space? Leaves kick up under my bike as I fly over them. Familiar trails guide me as I fly deeper into the woods. We started together but now I am riding alone with only the sound of my breath and the squeaks of my bike. I am too far in. Too far away. Too deep into this make believe space. But somehow, I am not lost.
The game is over now. I took it more seriously than the others. Here I am alone in the woods and they are all somewhere together doing something else. They've lost interest. They don't really believe. The mock my belief. Don't they know -- there is an empire to fight. I can feel it in my bones. And they just want to play another game.
Somehow I guess I have to ride back. Check myself back into reality. Exit the safety of the dangerous woods to where the while buildings are. They are all there. They've been there for a while. They've moved on. I am still here.
Time to go home. Is home a place, or is it just space? I don't want to go. I want to stay here in this make-believe place I have created where there are heroes and princesses and spaceships to fly. I want to write this story instead of live that story. But I have no choice. Everyone else has gone home to their story and I have to go home to mine.
I park my bike. Walk up the stairs. Turn the doorknob and walk through the portal into a place where I have no memory. It is dark and menacing and I am no hero there.