Wrecked. Rusted. Ruined. Things wear out. You wake up one morning and wonder who’s lying next to you because they’ve lost their shine. You can hardly read their tags with all the changes that have gone on. Shall we keep at it? Stay together?
Maybe one heads on down the road. Maybe you both lose oomph. Maybe you agree to park near a quiet river under low handing cedar where you can bed down along the mossy bank. One or the other of you leaning on the next, weight bearing down until the wheels won’t turn, and somehow, you don’t mind. No point kicking tires to see how much mileage is left. Not going anywhere.
In the beginning, there had been sparks. Later, friction. Your best times were those where the two of you just piddled along, stopping here, slowing there, enjoying the ride. You’re past that. Lost even the drive to amble. The two of you decide to call in one of the youngsters for a piggy-back tow.