This. makes. me. sick.

Subaru: R.I.P. 1997-2008

I loved this car. It makes me positively ill that my idiocy was the means of its demise. You know, not as ill as the accident itself makes me, and the possibility of harm to actual human persons, but ill nonetheless.

I have been driving this car since high school. I took my driving test in it. I listened to my first mix tape in it. I gave many a ride home in it. I sang a lot in it. This car saw a lot of change in me. My friend Katie (who died almost three years ago) rode in it. She scootered through the pouring rain once to pick up keys from my brother because I had locked my keys in this car while it was still running. I have in fact locked my keys in it a few times. I drove from coast to coast of this country in this car. I have spent the night in it because I couldn't afford a hotel room. I have packed my life and all my worldly possessions into it. I have survived a couple of truly scary moments in this car. This car has been my home when I had none. It was also how I got away. I escaped so many times in this car. Into the mountains, out west, to the lake, merely for a drive, to the movies, conversations with friends. The ability to go wherever I wanted when I wanted. It was my own space. Even when I shared it. I have been through so much. in. this. car. I loved it. Seeing what is pictured above just breaks my heart. I think it is, in fact, worse than what the picture looks like. I know, this is just a material possession, and it wasn't even mine, it was my parents', but it meant a lot to me. And I'm going to miss it a lot.