The still-wrapped gift
The bicycle beckoned. “My body aches to be used,” I explained.
It did. The exercise of my body’s raw force brought benefits of mental health, of improved fitness, of a way to enjoy the beautiful day, and even of better sleep.
Her gaze said a monologue. I considered how else what I said might be taken, and blushed. It hadn’t been what I meant, but with each minute I pushed on, the body I’d long hated got harder, tighter, sleeker. The body became mine.
Nevermind the long trip to the end of the trail the previous day. I followed a river upstream, then slipped about the park at a reservoir. After a brief journey, there’d be a lap around a lake, and then a lovely ride back down a parkway.
I still had energy. There was still room to push, still power oozing out of me in my idle moments. Today, now, finally, I was the person I always wanted to be. The person I could never have always been.
My body will always ache to be used. To chase you, but to be pursued by you. To caress you, but to be enfolded in yours. To tangle in times of passion, and to toil in moments of need.
My body is a gift that is mine to give. At times it may be all I have to give. My body is amazing. My body could be a paradise to you.
And then I found myself alone. The gift would have to remain wrapped, bow-tied ribbon tightly looped around it.
Perhaps you’ll unwrap your gift some other day.
