Like Riding a Bike

It begins with a rupture, a moment the body remembers before the mind can soften it.

A fall. Contact. The quiet violence of losing balance while someone else is in control.

From that fracture, a world unfolds.

Everything here speaks. The sky stretches into mouths, the path breathes in silent lips, even the remnants of movement, the broken wheel, the burning structure, seem to murmur something just out of reach. Expression is everywhere. It multiplies. It surrounds.

And at the center—she does not.

Her mouth is sealed.

“Like Riding a Bike” lingers in the space between instinct and suppression, between memory and the body’s refusal to forget. It is not about the fall itself, but about what follows, when the world keeps speaking, and you no longer can.