You were always so articulate.
Every time you spoke, delicate words flowed through my body,
and my heart would patter with each insignificant letter.
I loved the way you sat by my side for endless hours sipping
Jumping Java’s famous lattes, working to finish our novel.

The relationship we held was far from perfect,
but never before had you minded my foibles,
never noticed how loud or stubborn I could be.
Until the day your friends introduced her.

With her sleek design and innate brilliance,
she quickly became the apple of your eye,
a window into a whole new world.
How easily she lured you into her web
and had you dancing on your wiry cords.

Everything became a comparison.
You grew to hate my idiosyncrasies you had once thought
made me special.
I was difficult, and the indelible mistakes could not be unwritten,
you had enough with trying to start fresh.
There were too many things I could not offer you,
too many bits and pieces she could give.

And that was the end, for me at least.
It was time for you to upgrade,
time for me to finish my last line.
An analog machine in a digital age,
unable to bend with society.
A dying race, It’s not my fault,
I am just no one’s type.