cassiopeia

The car I'm driving is the color of your eyes. Brown. Green. Speckled with gold. The interior is warm, inviting, and has this essence to it that is very familar. I feel like I've known this car my whole life. Know every dent. Every cigarette burn. I know everything that is wrong with it and yet, everything that makes it great. My car. No one elses.
When I'm driving down long, winding roads that seem to take me places I don't want to be, I am comforted because you are with me. I know everything will turn out good when you are leading the way. Every bump and pothole startles me but doesn't phase you. You are strong. Strong enough to endure anything. I admire you. My constant. But it works both ways. When you have problems with the oil, transmission, brakes, etc... I am there to make you better. I am also here for you as you are here for me. I love you. And I don't know what I would do without you.
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Why do I insist on metaphors? Eh. I like them. I've done another on before here. Check it out if you feel so inclined.
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So pedigree_chump, you've said before that you like the way I write. Here's some news for you. I just came up with an idea for a short story. I'm working on the thesis and main ideas involed with it and yes, there may be a few metaphors here and there. When I am finished with it I will post it on here for everyone to read... but especially for you.
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I noticed a thread in the boards where you post the testimonials that you have and I realized I have zero. So I made one for myself. Haha. I think it's humorous. I'm not saying this so all my friends and write something in it. I just want you to read what I put because I'm a dork. haha. But I like being a dork.
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God. I want to get those pictures of myself up very soon so I can apply to be a SG. I need to do that. Pranto. Is that how you spell that? I don't know. Well, I need to do it soon anyway.
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Childhood dork factor fact: When I was little my mom and sister and I would drive to Kentucky because that's where all my family lives. We'd go through tunnels and it just so happens that my mom would smoke while going through every one of them. When she'd flick the cigarette out the window the cherry always made me think we were scrapping the side of the tunnel with the car... like sparks. So I'd freak out. I always told everyone how bad of a driver my mom was because of it... even though I've come to realize she's actually a quite good driver.
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I am Jack's disfunctional mind.