I used to be her bike. She would ride me for hours, and she would smile. How I loved that smile.
She made me feel wanted, she made me feel loved. I was always sore and tired because she would ride for so long, through bushes and forests, and on sidewalks and streets, but I never minded.
She is my owner, and it made me happy to be useful.
She never left me in the rain, I never rusted nor broke. Always, I would be mended. Oiled, shined, painted, polished, she would always take care of me. My dents always mended.
I used to be her bike. She took very good care of me.
Her laugh was beautiful and perfect, her excited shrieks and jovial laughter, she was overjoyed to go for rides. I wonder why she stopped...
But still, I used to be her bike. And now I stay here, the last place I saw her, twisted and broken.
She broke, so she is being fixed right now.
They left a bunch of flowers and toys for when she comes back. But why did they leave me here? She will want to see me soon.
She’ll want to go on another ride, I’m sure of it.
I used to be her bike, and when she comes to get me, I’ll be her bike again.
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