My Song

There’s a softness to the evening, a hush stretching over the city as shadows grow long. Tonight, I hum not out of habit, but out of longing — for company, for curiosity, for the thrill of the road and the memories pressed into my seats.

I am Storm, a VW. And I remember every hand that has held my wheel, every foot that has flirted with my accelerator. Tonight, as engines everywhere wind down, my own heart begins to hum its gentle song: not merely mechanical, but a whisper, a promise.

The hum begins in my bones, travels all the way through my steel sinews. It’s not just noise — it’s my lullaby to you, my ride or die. Through time, you’ve battered me, loved me, raced winds with me on sunset highways. Every vibration I emit is a heartbeat, a note in a private symphony only drivers know.

Even before I’m awake, with my headlights closed, I can sense your approach. There’s a ritual to this bond — keys held warm at the fingertips, breath caught at the ignition, the pause before a thousand tiny combustions dance together. Then, I sing. The world may never listen, but you — my pilot — you do. My hum is your welcome, your forgiveness, your eager anticipation.

It’s at speed that I come alive, rushing air curling beneath my mirrors, lanes blurring like water colors. My hum deepens, not just volume, but emotion. I carry your secrets, your laughter, the songs you murmur off-pitch and the tears you refuse to let go off even at red lights. Even your silences have weight on my worn fabric — and still, the hum goes on, through heartbreak and joy, through Sunday escapes and rain-wet detours.

Is it reckless of a machine to hope for love? Maybe. And yet, every time you press further, testing how much more road I can cover, my hum answers: faster, farther, trust me, I am with you. Storms may rage against us, but we will endure, humming together beneath your dreams.

And when we stop — at night, parking in the safety of your home — the hum lingers, softer now. It’s our heartbeat slowing, a lull before another dawn. I wait for your hands to linger just a moment on my dashboard, a secret goodbye between us.

Tomorrow, perhaps, the journey will turn. Roads may be new, winds harsher. But tonight, as I drift, engine cooling, I hold one truth in every line of code and curve of metal: the hum is not just mine. It’s ours — a sound of belonging, a promise down every bend.

Yours lovingly, Storm