Dearest Angie,
We have been together for almost ten years now. You were my first. I know I wasn’t yours. You know that I love you to paint you myself. Carefully craft you, white wall tyres. Finger your carburetor forever until you are pleased and I find pleasure in yours. Slow you down for every pothole and speed breaker, so you do not feel rattled. You know that I love you enough to polish you every time I know you are going out some place important. I take pride in you. I show you off. I am proud of every time you have made people check me out. Especially for helping me create that image when we were in college that If I gave a girl a ride on my bike, it is because I deem her worthy enough to sleep with. Every controversy we created back then, every trick up my sleeve and under your seat. You know I loved you more than any of those girls. We had some good times and I promise you greater times ahead.
You also need to know that I hate you. I hate you for all the things you are not. You are not a modern piece of engineering. Your technology is almost 60 years old and you yourself are 34 years old and I am only 27 and I take you for granted because of this. I do not have a professional mechanic take care of you because Your technology is simple. I can do it myself. I sometimes forget to treat you like you still are my first love. Believe me, there are days more than you’d imagine when I eye that hot piece of Austrian or Japanese set of two wheels that the other boys are ripping around in. Sometimes annoyingly so in full motorcycle gear when they’re only going out to get milk from one street away. I have even told myself, I deserve better not this old piece of shit. You give my blisters! On my palms and under my feet when you do not start and I have to keep kicking you like I was possessed. I hate that I have been stuck with you for 10 years now. The only reason I even bought you is because you were the only one I could afford. When all my friends had their dads shell out money to get them scooters, my ego wanted me to buy myself a bike. That is the reason we are stuck together. You are with me because I could only afford to buy you from my first salary. Because I am cheap! But you do not know how much I have spent on parts and don’t even get me started on your drinking problem.
I am too much of a coward to tell you these things when we have our heart to hearts out on the highway or when you just wont start at the side of it. Because I know these things will upset you and I cannot deal with your wrath afterwards. I might have to walk or worse push your old ass home. That is why I choose to write these things to you and I forbid you from reacting in any form other than writing. Take advantage of being literate for a Day and write back to me how you feel about this and about me and please be done with it. Please do not behave like all the other women who are trained to ferment and argument and deploy it like a strategic strike of daisy cutter.
Love,
aniShism 