You spend all of your time with them. You take them to the virus doctor every week at the same time, regular as clockwork. You jump up in panic every time they turn blue, and even that isn’t enough.

Sometimes computers just want to kill themselves.

They just go to sleep and never wake up. And you’ll keep pounding their on button, screaming “No! Don’t you quit on me! Not now! Not when I know just how much I need you! Look! Look I just bought you a drawing tablet! Think of all the beautiful things we could have made together!”

And then you pull out all of their computer guts, moving bits and pieces around and when someone comes in on you, and lays their hand on your shoulder and says “That’s enough, Andrew… that’s enough” you turn and scream back “IT’S NEVER ENOUGH! YOU DIDN’T LOVE HER LIKE I DID!”

But in the end, they just lay there, cold and lifeless.

So with the smell of cheap whiskey on your breath, you kick open the door to a public library and fall into the waiting chair of the first computer that will let you log-on, fumbling over the configuration of unfamiliar keys. 

You don’t even care if other people watch you type, because you just need to surf so bad.

Did you hear me HP! Did you hear me!

*blubber*

I don’t even need you anymore! I’ve found somebody else.

*steam whistle sound of mourning*

And she’s *blubber* so much better than you could ever dream of being.

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