Dear computer, baby, first born child, keeper of words, stories, and memories;
You are old, heavy, loud, constantly in heat. You’ve crashed and burned and even been overcome by a virus that turned my whole OS to dust. You fight the wifi like it’s the real object of my love so I cannot connect with the outside world.
But these are words I tell myself so that I can move on – be real, let go, and move on.
You are my sweetest friend, my earliest ear of thoughts and questions and commandments that I doubted anyone would care to hear. You are a safe place, a library, a entrance to worlds of wonder. You were my occupant of spare time, or time-that-was-meant-for-things-but-made-into-spare-time or whatever you call it. You have a cool coat of cherry black and keys that fit perfectly in my hands. My computer life was born and raised with you.
I don’t want to walk away from this familiar screen bordered by sticky-notes, don’t want to place my fingers on some shiny, clean keyboard that holds no personality in its unblemished r’s, t’s, and f’s, to say the least. What will the new one be like? Will it be cold and professional? Curious and surprising? Distant and unfamiliar? Or loving?
You will always be the first, always hold a special place in my heart.
Thank you, computer.