My bike is in my parents' garage now. She's been there for a while. After, I couldn't bear reminders of the past (and couldn't bear not remembering, but that's a different issue.)

But flying down the highway doesn't feel like freedom anymore. It's just salt in the wound, a cold reminder of all those never agains. 

So Baby Blue might always sit under a tarp in the back of a garage, waiting, like me, for things that can no longer happen. It makes me sad to think of her like that. Maybe I don't deserve her.