Dear Sophia,
I was tought as a child to disregard the exterior, and look deep within to find qualities worth while. However, I couldn't do that with you, because you have absolutely no qualities worth justifying your existence. I'll start by saying that I have no affinity for you, whatsoever. I must say, it makes my anxiety levels diminish a little knowing you'll be out of our lives for good. I just hope that someone from far, far away has a low enough IQ level to actually want to take you off our hands.
At first, I didn't have a problem with you. But as the time went by, and the mud layers grew disgustingly thicker, and the headaches became part of a daily routine, and he started caring more about you than me, resentment has become overwhelming. Just wait. Soon the day will come when I look in the driveway and won't get an eyesore. I'll gaze through the smudged glass of the window, my peripheral zoned in on sun-kissed blacktop cracked with weeds gently pushing their way through, and in the middle of the drive way, a slight discoloration of pavement -thanks to your tendency to leak. What I will not see is your colossal silhouette, all red and rusted, crusty with a blanket of mud. I won't settle onto your always-scorching-hot leather cab. I won't have to fight with the seat belt: yank... tug... pull. (Insert obscenity here). Click. Oh, yes. Poor me. I won't have to question whether or not the wind will be cooperative, won't have to compromise a wind-proof coiffure. I'll have to worry about neither the transmission blowing up, nor the engine, or my own head from your obstreperously obnoxious exhaust. I won't wonder whether or not we'll be suddenly surprised when we go for a cruise in the woods and we get stuck and have to haul your huge tail end out of a spongy bog. Jeremy had no problem with that. But, you see, I'm not Jeremy. I only have so many good pairs of shoes, and not much money to replace them when they get eaten by dead vegetables.
Time and time again I've found myself repulsed by your existence. I can hear you approaching minutes before you arrive, because it is that distinct sound that hacks through my peace and quiet, mutilating my serenity. There's a reason why I slouch in you, allow you to be the barrier between the world and myself: I don't want to be seen with you. You're always screaming for attention when you drive down the street, your exhaust spewing gaseous death into the atmosphere, producing a consistent shriek. I am jealous Jeremy fell in love with you. I'm jealous Jeremy would rather fix your broken-down, useless, rusted, rotted body than spend time with me.
Alas, lo and behold, you shall soon be gone. A blurry figure with the key in hand, graciously inserting it, and with a slight swivel of the wrist, that angelic engine awakens. A foot tenderly easing on the gas pedal, you advance with initial hesitation. Your silhouette a dark mass against a quiet sky, the only sound I can register is one that has never before sounded so beautiful.
-Krystin
