A Love Letter.

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Dear antique Ford Bronco that lives on the 1300 block of T Street, NW,

We’ve never met, but I can’t stop thinking about you. I live two blocks away, and on my walks home I often take your way in the chance that I might see you. What is it about you that attracts me!? Others dream of some sleek, fast, and flawless thing – but I’ve never been one for the obvious or fastidiously kempt. There’s something effortless and natural about your cool.

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Sure, you’re rusty in some places and even bald in others, but I like you just the way you are. I love your broad, rugged construction. I love the studding above your tires more than I love the studded minidress Madonna wears in her ‘Celebration’ video. Is it strange that I feel a level of familiarity, even comfort with you, already? That when I need trees and quiet, you’d understand and take me onto gravel roads? And when I crave the city again, we’d return with leaves in my hair and dirt on your floor? I long to feel your weight, to know your sounds. I want to know your pedals and how they move against me. I could spend countless hours learning all there is to know about you. I want us to laugh often, take long drives together, and sleep under the stars!

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You belong to another, they’ve made it clear (a Club possessively clutching your wheel like gripping arms). But I’ll still be watching, dreaming, hoping.

Yours,
Rachel

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