If I could draw

I would want to show you the biker in blue that just went down the 39th street hill from the west,  on this blizzardous day so beautiful, pedaling upright, and how much his headlight, so round and bright, glittered the storm so perfectly, picture perfectly, like a famous painting,  so much so it was if the whole thing happened just to be painted, another fleeting messenger that passed you by, so as to one day see it again, hanging in a museum, and be reminded that you let it get away, that there was a time, not long ago, where you could still see the world in pictures, even though it didn't mean that much to you at the time, and what you'd give for those days now