There was a valley where roads had forgotten gravity.

They wandered through the sky like ribbons of polished crystal.

Sometimes they curved upward into the stars.

Sometimes they gently folded beneath floating hills where waterfalls flowed into clouds instead of rivers.

No map could explain them.

The roads preferred curiosity over directions.

On either side of the crystal paths grew enormous flowers.

Their petals were made of stained glass.

Whenever moonlight passed through them...

little rainbows drifted into the air and slowly became birds.

Above the valley floated giant dandelions.

Each seed carried a tiny lantern.

They never fell.

They simply waited until someone wished upon tomorrow.

Then they quietly drifted away.

The night was clear.

The stars were close enough that their reflections sometimes forgot whether they belonged above or below.

Soft mist wandered between the floating hills.

Every now and then...

the fog shaped itself into whales.

They swam lazily through the sky before becoming mist again.

The world seemed to breathe very slowly.

A young man walked along one of the crystal roads.

Beside him rolled an old bicycle.

He never rode it.

He simply walked with it.

Its tires weren't made of rubber.

They were woven from pale silver threads that looked like countless tiny promises.

Whenever they touched the road...

they left no tracks.

Only little circles of warm light.

Its handlebars curved gently like the first line of a handwritten letter.

They were carved from dreams.

Not wood.

Not metal.

Dreams.

Every traveler who looked at them remembered one forgotten wish before continuing their journey.

The headlight held no candle.

Inside rested a tiny glowing star.

It shone only when someone ahead had begun doubting themselves.

The frame itself...

looked almost ordinary.

Except that it occasionally became transparent.

As though the bicycle hadn't fully decided whether it wished to exist in this world or another.

The young man had built it himself.

One piece at a time.

It had taken almost his entire life.

Yet...

he had never ridden it.

Because...

he wasn't certain he deserved to arrive anywhere.

So he walked beside it instead.

Every day.

Every year.

The bicycle never complained.

Tonight...

as the crystal road climbed gently toward a floating garden...

he heard music.

Not a melody.

Wind chimes.

Hundreds of them.

Ahead stood a greenhouse unlike any he had imagined.

It had no walls.

Only countless hanging glass windows.

Each floated independently in the air.

Moonlight passed through every pane,

painting the mist with shifting colors.

Inside the open greenhouse...

flowers bloomed upon nothing.

Their roots rested in little floating drops of water.

A young woman stood among them.

She carried no basket.

No tools.

Only a tiny watering can.

When she poured from it...

no water came out.

Instead...

small glowing butterflies fluttered gently onto the flowers.

Every blossom they touched slowly opened.

The young man stopped.

"I've never seen flowers watered with butterflies."

She smiled without looking surprised.

"They're not butterflies."

"No?"

"They're second chances."

She continued watering quietly.

The bicycle's little headlight glowed just a little brighter.

The young man noticed.

"So..."

he asked,

"...what grows here?"

The young woman looked around the floating flowers.

"They aren't flowers."

He blinked.

"They certainly look like flowers."

"They're beginnings."

One blossom slowly unfolded.

Inside...

rested a tiny wooden door.

Another opened.

Inside floated a paper boat.

A third revealed nothing but morning light.

"They become whatever someone finally chooses."

The young man looked down at his bicycle.

"I don't think mine has chosen anything."

The young woman walked closer.

She knelt beside the front wheel.

Very gently...

she touched the tire woven from hope.

It shimmered softly.

"I think it has."

"What?"

"It chose patience."

The answer settled somewhere deep inside him.

He had spent years believing the bicycle waited because he was afraid.

Perhaps...

it had simply loved walking beside him.

They wandered together through the endless greenhouse.

Glass windows drifted around them like quiet moons.

Every now and then...

one reflected a different sky.

One showed snowfall.

Another sunset.

One reflected neither.

Only two travelers walking beside a bicycle.

The young woman suddenly laughed.

"What?"

She pointed toward the handlebars.

Tiny flowers had begun blooming along them.

"I've never seen that before."

"What does it mean?"

She thought for a while.

"I imagine..."

"...your dreams have finally become comfortable enough to rest."

He smiled.

For the first time in many years...

he looked at the bicycle.

Not as something unfinished.

But as an old companion.

Near the end of the greenhouse stood a little bridge.

It wasn't connected to anything.

Beyond it...

only stars.

The young man looked toward the impossible path.

"I suppose this is where the road ends."

The young woman gently shook her head.

"No."

She pointed toward the bicycle.

"I think..."

"...it's where you stop walking beside it."

He looked at the tiny star glowing inside the headlight.

It had become wonderfully bright.

Not dazzling.

Simply certain.

He placed one hand upon the handlebars.

The bicycle felt warm.

Almost alive.

He hesitated.

Then...

very quietly...

he climbed onto the seat.

The crystal road beneath them changed.

Not shape.

Meaning.

The road no longer looked like something leading somewhere.

It looked like something welcoming him.

He looked toward the young woman.

"I never asked what you do."

She lifted the tiny watering can.

Inside...

countless little butterflies of light waited patiently.

Then she answered,

"When people become too frightened to begin..."

"...I grow another beginning."

The bicycle moved.

Without pedals.

Without effort.

The tires rolled across the crystal road,

leaving behind little circles of warm light.

Each circle slowly blossomed into tiny dandelions carrying lanterns.

The floating flowers gently bowed as he passed.

The mist whales continued their slow journey through the sky.

And somewhere beyond the stars...

another road quietly unfolded,

because at last,

someone had realized...

the bicycle had never been waiting

for the perfect destination.

It had only been waiting

for the quiet moment

its maker finally believed

he was worthy

of the ride.