We can’t pretend any longer. We’re done.

At first sight, I was enraptured by your stunningly slender, gorgeous, gold body.

As you opened up to me, you captured my gaze and my imagination. Every color I could imagine you brought to me in stunning detail.

Oh, and when I laid my first finger on you, your shapely contours and smooth action, it was like we were kids again. I really thought I was deeper than that, but I couldn’t help but lust after you. You were arm candy, and I was love-sick.

I’ll never forget our first date. Summer in Chicago. I think I heard trumpets playing. In the swirl of chaos, it was just you and me, waltzing. The tired tune didn’t disappoint, because I had you in my hands. Then other dates in other cities. When I wasn’t with you I would spend time on your profile like a lovesick teenager. “This could be love,” I thought.

“Is this be only skin deep?” I would query. I mean I knew you had your downsides:

• You’re just a child.
• While you were pleasing to my eyes. Yours weren’t so good with your iSight (480p). I saw how you looked at me.
• Oh, and don’t even get me started on how you play with others. The whole, “I’m a one-port gal” stuff was a little primadonna.

I didn’t care about all that. “We can make this work,” I thought. Sure, I was spontaneous. Throwing caution to the wind, “Come home with me,” I said. Like butterflies swirling in my stomach. This was going to work I just knew it, and I really thought that I could get past all that. Who was I kidding? It just wasn’t meant to be. Honestly, you’re better for some other guy (or gal). Let’s face it, you’re more into the simple things. Working hard isn’t your thing, and that’s okay with me.

I’m a man of action, and that drives you crazy. In fact, it grinds you to a halt.

You’re more of a curl up in a corner with a book sort of girl. I like to travel the world. That exhausts you.

I want to spend time with you, and while you say you can go for some crazy number like 9 hours. That must be when the lights are way down.

No offense, you just aren’t very smart. You may have a good memory, but you’re just really dumb. I mean if I ask you to fetch the mail, turn on some music, while I write this letter for example, you spaz out. You try to do each of the tasks, and you become a basketcase.

You need a simpler relationship. You need someone that can just appreciate your beauty and not require too much going on upstairs. You know, lots of people love your sisters, and you have so much more to offer. For now, we can be friends. Maybe you’ll grow up—we’ll see next spring. But for now, I just can’t go on like this. I’m tired of making excuses for you. Telling everyone that you have a “headache” all the time is just a bore. Then when we do go out, you can only go to a few places without your translator. There’s a big world out there baby, and we’re not getting any younger. In fact, you’re going to be obsolete before you know it. So make the most of it.

With fondest of memories,

Jeremy

(written on a 2015 MacBook)