5.07.2012

If only a bicycle could speak.

This bicycle has a history. On one of the first dates Adam and I had together he rolled into the park on this fancy vintage bicycle. His bike. He loved this bicycle.

I took one look at it and said. "That's my dad's bicycle."
He said, "No. It's mine."

I said "Yah now. But it was my Dad's 20 years ago. This bicycle has my growing up years written all over it {even the scratches on the handle bars from when my sister wiped out." You see I grew up on this bicycle. We pulled wagons behind it. We put our dolls in the back rack as to pretend it was their car seat. My dad and his girls went on many bicycle rides together with this bicycle. It's my history," I said.

And now, it was Adam's. He had purchased it a couple years back. Perhaps even from us {we did grow up only a few blocks from each other, so really, it's possible}.

I like that this bicycle has a history. 
My history.
Adam's history.
And now, our future. 

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