I lost you last night while writing late, when you disappeared, without a trace, into the computer void. O lost writing that I should have saved! You are perfect in a way only possible of things things not present. You are gone now, never to be replaced.
I should have seen the tell-tale signs you were sending all day.
You were losing your memory, you told me, your disk was full. Delete some files, you said (which I did, a bit). But I kept too many windows open, and re-entered the failing applications which had paused due to overwhelming overload. In short, you told me you were no longer able to autosave.
I listened to your plea, but not well enough. I did not realize it was forewarning your final demise. I should have deleted more, respected your humble request to conserve.
You’ve gone the way of all lost things, and I wonder if one day I might find you among lost socks and scarves, lost opportunities, and lost loves.
In our final moments together (oblivious I was!), I recall your dark words contrasted against the lit screen. I imagine the way my face must have lit up in artificial illumination, the glare of it reflecting off my glasses. (Little did I know this would be the last time!)
Like so many times before, you sent the warning messages, but this time, you weren’t merely paused, but stopped, a slowly rotating icon indicating your silent departure. Lagging had become common, so I waited for you to catch up, like you always had before. But this time, you never did.
But I didn’t know that then. And I, I was too hasty — too impatient — to have you again, that I shut you down, pressed the button to reset everything, hoping for a quick renewal. I should have seen the signs: you’d been gone an entire day, but I had not realized it. Only the shell of you remained.
As everything restarted, I looked hopefully to the page I’d been labouring over for those many hours, the tiny characters symbolizing the scraps of time I’d sacrificed in the writing of you. You’d always come back before after a restart. But this time, you were gone.
As I took it all in, I realized my mistake: you weren’t able to autosave, I should have deleted more, but even still, I could have used my thumb and pointer finger to simply press command+S.
I could have saved you, myself, from my loosing you.
Question: O departed writing, will I ever write again?