I woke up today, so that's a plus. My mind is a fog. Every once in a while a thought drifts into view, but for the most part I can't really distinguish much. I get up anyway, stumble through a shower and stagger through getting dressed. I 'm your friend, or at least I'm pretty sure I am. My alarm screams at me, time to go. The bus smells funny today. School will smell better. A pretty girl smiles at us over the bus seat. We both agree she smiled at you, but you try to hide behind humour and a goofy grin. My thoughts drift, and you grab the wheel. It spins out into a conversation and crashes into a conclusion. Something about the economy.
These classes kill my mind. Lunch is too short. Back on the bus. The girl smiled again, I think she likes you. Home. Homework. Shower. Sleep. Rinse. Repeat.
Days blur into weeks, weeks into months, and she did like you. Now you two have dated for a solid five months. Her name is Monique. She claims it to be French. I claim it was her parents trying to be. She laughs at most of my jokes, so we get along rather well. I should find more jokes like those. You two will date for years. Three years exactly. Then she breaks your heart, and tries to turn me against you. I think it rediculous. We laugh at her. Well I laugh, but you crack a smile, so that's a plus.
More months, more years, more jokes, more spin-outs, more fog. You fall away from me, I understand. You've made friends. I haven't. School lies in the rear-view mirror. You've gained full control. My tires are still screeching. I jerk at the wheel but it doesn't do anything. Less jokes, less conversations, less you, more fog.
It's late now, but I type anyway. I want you to know I called you. You were probably asleep, I understand. I want you to know none of this is your fault. After all, this was my car.