As far as I can tell, there are two types of people in the world: those who feel totally indifferent toward cars, and those who love them. If you’re in the first group, it’s simply a practical means of personal transportation, and what follows will sound crazy. But if you fall into the latter category, you know a car is so much more. It’s a thing of beauty, no matter how old or objectively ugly it may be. It’s a type of soulmate; you know the right one by that magic synergy you feel between driver and car, effortlessly traveling together. You know it’s an inanimate object, but in your mind it’s a living thing, a friend; perhaps you’ve told it your deepest secrets inside its protected walls, or maybe it’s inspired you to view the world with fresh eyes as you traveled together to a new place. It’s almost like a piece of your soul existing outside your body. And it loves you; its reason for existence is to be your safe guardian as you travel through life, and it will sacrifice itself to save you. That’s exactly what this vehicle did for us. A full life, a good one by many standards, and yet still taken from us way too soon. You deserved more life, you deserved better, and I feel like I have failed you. As ridiculous as it sounds, as much as I’m truly and honestly a sane person who’s perfectly aware of the fact that a car contains no life force whatsoever and is simply an assemblage of inert materials, I want you to know, dear sweet blue Corolla, that I loved you, that I am thankful for having you in my life, and that I am eternally grateful for the sacrifice you made for us. May you drive long and free on the roads of Car Heaven. RIP.