Half of us

The Aftermath

I have had four of them walk in to my life. I walked out on all four of them. Not once did it get easier. The void that remained felt exactly the same.

In fact the entire day when you sell your car feels like a déjà vu of terrible affairs. In the morning, when you see her parked in all her glory, you avoid her as if she wouldn’t know what is about to transpire on that day. You want to admire those twinkling headlights, the perfect steering wheel, that steel shifter, those amazing white dials and those variable valves. But instead, you walk past here. You act like it is like any other day. The memories that you have shares and the milestones that you have driven past aren’t remembered. You are too scared to admit to her that this is the day when you would part ways. The reasons which dictate the sale are entirely justifiable but for her are sadly irrelevant.

The act of selling your car besides being painful is such an ugly set of affairs. The buyer evaluates her as she was merely an object. There is haggling over her value despite the fact that you haven’t ever monetized your relationship with those four wheels. On that day, you are forced to enter that discussion. The tires that squealed in Joy are checked for tread depth. The power plant that rocketed you on German autobahn is criticized for having traversed excessive kilometers. There are many others like her but only you know that there can never be anyone else. When you are finally through the ordeal and painfully watch the car being driven away, you are spent. Empty and in a pain of vacuum, where you wish, that you never ever have to sell your car again.

There will be other cars in my life. There are more legends I want to have in my garage. There are still many love stories that still haven’t started. But on that day, when I gave her away there wasn’t a better or worse, but rather, the simple ground truth that she was no more mine.

note : The title comes from here although that pain seem much worse.