Dear water-damaged phone,

Your once-glimmering exterior is now rendered useless

The broken internals contain technology once thought impossible,

Never processing another input

My finger struggles to glide over your once silky smooth screen

Tiny shards of glass poke my finger as you rest in my hand

My throat screams in pain, as the dust from your fall from grace consumes me

I miss the day when we met

Not a thought of separation

Nor a thought of replacement

My eyes were glued to you

I couldn’t take my hands off you

Now it stings and strains to lay my hand upon you

My eyes struggle to stay open under the weight of my tears

I hear the door open, and I rush to my feet

My mind prepares a rehearsed speech

I prepare my greatest voice of despair

And tell my mother,

“I accidentally dropped my phone in water…”

Your old friend,

Anonymous