I met you on a Tuesday in the mid of the scorching summer
heat. You were a unique piece of specimen, a rarity, a classic, and I drove you
off that lot that night. And though you were just a broken down trailer I was
happy I found you. You were kind of small and shabby and there really wasn’t
anything fine about you. You were really cheap and you needed a lot of repairs.
But you were all mine and I was all yours and for the first time in my life I
was an owner of something.
I remember our first night together; we drove down to the
ocean. I was so afraid you might break down along the way but you got me there.
We drove right into the ocean and as the warm water touched my feet I knew I
was where I was meant to be. The waves crashed down on you like a sinking ship
but I got you out just in time. That night I fell asleep in the warmth of your
comfort and it felt like a thousand nights in a broken down trailer and I was
alright with that.
I lost you on a Friday as the start of autumn began. You
were from a small town trailer park and now you’re in a big city shop. I knew
you were destined for much bigger things than me. I knew I couldn’t give you
all the upgrades you desperately needed so I gave you up. And as I walk this
lonely road thinking about you, my arms start to drag, legs start to rattle, my back starts to crack, and my heart starts to squeak. As I fall to my knees I become a broken down
trailer. I wonder who’s going to save me now.
