sweet relief

“THE ANTICIPATION IS KILLING ME. I HOPE IT LASTS.”

WILLY WONKA SURE DID KNOW A THING or two. Granted, most of his knowledge revolved around skirting OSHA standards and hiding a handful of missing children, but no line has ever so perfectly described my personal battle between immediate gratification and the perfection of unsullied hope.

I’ve spent months on the bike hanging from the work stand in my garage, but my chamois-clad rear has yet to grace its untainted saddle.

It began months ago, back when it felt like winter would never come as fall rained its tie-dyed leaves