Blue Subaru, holy fuck I miss you.
My first car.

It broke down all the time, hissed names at me,
constantly reminding me
I was never enough for something newer.

That blue crusted shitbox
with the replaced bumper
finally left me stranded.

I always thought I’d be the one to leave first.
Trade it in.
Con some asshole into buying it.
Watch it disappear in somebody else’s rearview mirror.

I never imagined
it would die on me first.

Well, actually, that’s a lie.

I had nightmares about this for years.
Standing on the shoulder with smoke pouring out,
hazards blinking like a warning
everyone else could somehow read but me.

I always knew it was a death trap.
I just got comfortable driving it.

Comfortable apologizing for the noises.
Comfortable praying the check engine light
didn’t mean what I thought it meant.
Comfortable pretending
making it home counted as reliability.

It took me months
to even look at other cars.

Now I test drive my dream car
and keep my hand hovering over the lock button,
waiting for the doors to jam.

I keep expecting the engine to spit at me,
for the tires to give out in the rain,
for something beautiful
to turn cruel without warning.

People keep asking why I won’t buy it already.

But they’ve never had a car teach them
how to confuse surviving
with being loved.

Maybe that’s why every safe car
feels unfamiliar.

Maybe I don’t miss you at all.

-sometime during the winter