Everyone you love will leave you.  Your bicycle will ride away outside a bar in a neighbourhood you thought was safe.
You will spontaneously spurt blood from your hands and feet and your hairline will leak red liquid into your eyes.
Your cornea will warp to oval shaped and everything will be blurry both close and far away.
You will try not to love your new bike as much as you loved your old one, but your new bike will have five gears and a basket for your groceries.
You will need to wear glasses for both reading and working on the computer, and you will constantly be soaking the blood out of your clothes.
You will occasionally be worshiped as though you were born in a manger and rose from the dead on the third day.
You will lock your new bike outside of a man’s house one night, and in the morning, both the bicycle and the man will have gone away.
Your boss will still except that report on his desk by five, even though everyone in your office will have nick-named you the new messiah.
You will have a hard time recognizing people’s faces from far away.
They will ask for answers anyway, and you will only be able to tell them that when your palms bleed it’s difficult for you to use your breaks.
Your glasses will fog in the winter, and your friends will go on adventures without you.
You’ll be asked to leave restaurants where health codes don’t permit blood being splattered into the cordon blue.
But eventually, none of this will matter to you.  You know your bike will be stolen but that the road will remain the same.
At night you will take off your glasses and bike downhill.  And from somewhere far away, someone will call your name.
You’ll hold bloody palms to the sky, hear the wind shoot through the holes, and for a brief moment you will be lifted.  It will feel as though time has started to fold.
You may not be able to see, but you are here to bleed, and with your blood pooling in the pools of streetlight behind you, you will have earned your eternity.

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