I'm trying not to hate you. I'm trying to get back to that magical place we were, when you were so good and right for me. And it's getting better. I no longer want to park you on top of a campfire or push you into Lake Mendota at sunset.
I'm trying not to blame you for stranding me on I-94 and missing the short track races. I'm trying to direct that scorn at the piece of shit PO who cross threaded your spark plug, and at your current owner for not noticing this until it was too late.
Maybe after the thread repair kit I ordered shows up and works effortlessly to repair you, I will be able to embrace you again. I can't promise I'll change, because I won't. I'll still expect you to carry me and all my stuff everywhere. I'll still curse at you and abuse you, especially when you give me trouble. But I can promise I'll ride the fuck out of you until I break you again.
p.s. You look great naked.