I’m watching our shadows, chasing, overtaking, the bike. Then fading back. It’s my favourite thing to do when riding a motorcycle at night, as a passenger of course. Please don’t do this when driving.
It’s a repeating cycle of encroaching shadowy darkness, which is blitzed by that shining light of the headlights.
“How do you know you didn’t die?” he says. I’ve just recounted the story of almost plunging off the edge of a cliff earlier this year, when lost in the mountains at night; then waking up to the most heavenly view the next morning and wondering whether I’d actually gone to heaven.
And I think to myself: well, perhaps I did die.
Perhaps I jumped through realities.