Why do I think about that tonight?
I do not know.
We are all different. We all have things we are taking to heart for different reasons. To this dark past, nostalgia events and circumstances that may or may not evoke good feelings.
A memory attached to that first kiss. A ARTEFAC associated with this event occurring to the banks of a fire.
A picture or a song.
For me, this object can be found in the dust. Under
lot of dust.
Imagine this old garage 80s. A cottage too small to include a car, but also too big to serve only to Apenta. Coverage bland and pale white sheets. A simple iron fireplace brightened a dark witch hat.
within a broad bric-a-brac. Lots of effects accumulated over the years.
There all a bunch of miscellaneous tools. In the other corner, piles of wood arranged so haggard.
disks. Revolver leaving the lot, as if it had been used recently. A bicycle, old and worn. A lawn mower. Various materials: wood, glass, pieces of steel, tin.
Some fantastic figurines painted in red. Old furniture. A clock mode of the Sacred Heart. A sketch of autumn.
All this under a pile of dust.
There is also something else. At the back of a motorcycle. Yamaha Virago 750 XVK 1983.
She is always there. Gutted, murdered. Bruised.
Long ago, we tried a restore. Missing budgets, as well as desire and the project was abandoned.
It looks at all that what once was. Now, this is only a skeleton dissected. A kind of remembrance of the ravages of time.
Yet it is still there. Pieces.
No more rear wheel. The seat is gone, as well as the fuel tank; be prominent on any motorcycle.
Tires are cracked. Most globes are broken. All chrome has been removed. The exhaust, chrome and pretty old, no longer exists. The steps are distant memories.
nuts all seem dull or rust-ridden.
But it's still there.
The engine seems intact, as well as the chassis. The front wheel is still in this strange portrait. Finally, the front consisting of lights and dials, remains substantially unaltered.
Looks like a look. Vague and worn.
A look that refuses to die.
missing pieces to complete oxidises in the attic.
But it's still there.
hundred times my father would have wanted to get rid of it. Percent When I refused.
It is too much for me.
My first test on a motorcycle. My best pictures. My driver's license. My first excursions around Lake St. John. All my high school diaries.
My father going to work when I was younger. The starter refusing to comply. A romantic getaway between my parents. The secret passage behind Heggins . Rashel.
Freedom.
No chance that I can get rid of.
I wish I was close to her. But why?
She is patient.
She knows that I will return one day for her.
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