On a warm Sunday, I heard the low rumbling of a motorcycle from my third-floor window.
It wasn't the first time that I had heard the sound or that it had made my heart skip a beat. But, it was the first time that we were going on a date.
Four years and seven bikes later, we don't ride on the same bike often, but when we do it reminds me of that first ride.
When you start falling for someone, and you're falling for them hard, there's something incredibly intimate about a first motorcycle ride's long embrace. There's something about holding on, about being intertwined.
And when you eventually ride next to each other and catch that first glimpse of your shadows overlapping between the sun's rays- well, I think that's about as close to witnessing our souls moving as we will ever get.
Happy four year anniversary, babe.