My dearest Shelby,
I miss you.
I never had someone, something, this special in my life. My first instinct is to apologize for this cliche, but I proudly stand by it. My love for you began at first sight. No. Wait. At first sound.
You arrived that hot, humid August morning so polished and poised. I had just finished a workout. I was sweaty, messy. Absolutely gross in comparison to you. I was not nearly prepared for what was waiting in my driveway when I heard you. Your throaty exhaust note vibrated through my home — and my heart — announcing your arrival.
There you were in all of your brilliance. Your Brittany blue metallic paint was remarkable, a color that before that day had only existed in my car dreams. Your style was sleek, but with a menacing edge. Double white racing stripes, carbon fiber accessories — you were spicy, pristine, exquisite.
My mind reeled. Are you real? Are you not of this world? Could you be, like a vampire, immortal?
Despite your power, you were welcoming. I felt at home in your leather Recaro seats that hugged in all the right places. Every touchpoint was leather or carbon fiber, a symbol of your high-end tastes. Perhaps I worried that you were out of my league. But that never bothered you.
Every moment we spent together, I cherished. I often think of our long drives across the state and around the countryside. You may have a tough, almost threatening exterior — the pins and vents on your hood, so mean-looking — but they don’t know you like I do. There’s just so much more to you.
Underneath that hood is the source of your strength — that 5.2-liter supercharged V8. Seven hundred and sixty horses give you the power to take on anything. Ah, and you pair it so well to that 7-speed dual-clutch transmission and Magneride active dampers, making our long days together so comfortable and easy. When we wanted to show off, you sprinted to 60 with vigor and grace. You were a natural performer. But you also knew how to take care of the ones you loved the most.
We fit together. We were one, complimenting each other’s abilities. I may not always be as fast as you, or as poised. But together, we were unstoppable.
You’re so capable, on the road and the track. I understood the time would come when you would have to leave me. You’d be perfectly fine on your own.
I brought you to meet my father. Our families seemed doomed to disagree — I come from a General Motors house, and you are a Ford — but you were the exception. My father was happy to give you his blessing. This would be no Romeo and Juliet tale. We could drive into the sunset together ‘til the end of our days.
But alas, our time together had to end. You felt like mine, but you belong to Ford. After a whirlwind week together, you were whisked away. I know you’ve been with others since.
I haven’t been the same. I can’t bear to lay my eyes on any other Shelby. A base Mustang pales compared to you, a child’s plaything. Sure, there are other cars that can meet or exceed what you offer. But where they might beat you in power, they sacrifice comfort, style. Romance. Nothing will ever compare to you. Nothing can ever replace what we had.
This whirlwind romance, only a week long, was indeed meant to be. I will forever long for the day when our paths may meet again.
Forever yours,
Lalita
