• So it's always me cycling ahead and meeting her, or I take the train and leave the bike at home. And you know what? I think it's better that way, in some aspects. Ask yourself: Do you really wanna give up the only "me" time that you can get without being suspected to cheat on her?

    Holy shit, that's a great point. What if the years erode all the happiness and youthful joy that comes with being truly in love with somebody beautiful, outside and in, and I'm left a resentful and bitter husk of my former ebullient and spritely character; the long and arduous grey commute become my only time of solace and I take progressively longer and more diverse routes home, rather than spend a single minute more with the sour ghost of what was once my effigy of adoration, until one day I just disappear under the blackwall tunnel and decided to keep riding, keep riding away from the disappointment and smashed dreams and hopes, the faded memory of my past ambitions and fantasy spurring me on until I arrive, dazed in a distant Mediterranean shore and spend the rest of my wasted life selling dangerously bad beach massages to fat tourists.

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