The bicycle sits there, abandoned under the blossom tree on a sunny day.

The wheels deflate like a burst balloon, while the grass eats away the rubber.

Handlebars screech begging for oil, and the soft, silky feeling of a humans hand.

Moss clings onto the metal bars like a baby koala, never letting go of its mother.

The torn up seat longs for the morning breeze when it’s flowers blew gracefully in the wind.