.:[Double Click To][Close]:.

Dear Preeti Computer...I'm Sorry, But We Are Done..


My Dearest Preeti/Computer, 

This isn't going to work anymore, you have injured me down to my black soul. God have mercy on me for putting so much faith in you (to be honest I expect little). It was only after I saw you respond so suggestively to my co-workers commands, that I realized the truth.  

You flatter me endlessly, you light up immediately when I merely move the mouse and start playing with your key board. You even make me feel that after a dump that my toilet reeks of fresh flowers. Alas, it was but a lie. You were never truly mine. 

Everyone seems to love thee, you and your kind. Everyone needs a computer, or so you say. When I acquired you, we made a pact that you would be mine, I named you (Preeti, because you always were), stamped my office code with pride onto your CPU's backside, all to not avail, that sticker of honor, was no more than a tramp stamp to you. Little did I know how 'open for business' you were. 

Your promiscuity and desire to let anyone play with your keyboard and caress your mouse pad leaves me extremely jealous and feeling rather stupid. But none of it matters anymore.  

Preeti, I had so much hope for us, when you were presented to me with your gleaning screen, so shiny that I could see my reflection in your eyes. Little was I to know that this was a false promise, you'll reflect into any ones eyes, you whore. I hate you, yet I loved you. 

Such are the ironies of life. I feel that we've reached the end of our road together. Fuck you. I can't wait to get a base ball bat and smash you into a circuit spewing pulp, however, because I am a gentleman (Momma raised me right), I will not..... 

Instead I will hand you off to my illiterate underlings, and let them have their way with you. They'll bang your keyboard into oblivion, the sound of their typing so loud and merciless, even I won't want want to hear. Your CPU will groan and shriek with obvious pain as multiple spam and pop up viruses ravage your insides. And to think it was all so unnecessary. 

I know we've had our problems, from time to time I have (by mistake!) downloaded the odd virus file, resulting in clean ups that were uncomfortable and not to your liking. 

I realize how it makes you feel when I use public computers at Internet cafes or marvel at the latest laptop (in my defense, everyone else was doing it).

I even remember the time that you gave me an fatal error when I was surfing the web for laptops (for my sister!). Such jealously seemed almost sweet and loving at the time. Such is our tragedy. 

Preeti Baby, they meant nothing to me compared to you, after all, I relied on you day in and day out for a dozen hours at a time. How many late nights did we spend together in an intellectual embrace? How can you even imagine that I would ever shirk from my responsibilities to you. 

You were my no.1 babe. I was always there when you needed me to make you feel wanted, even if it was a google search on 'bouncing bunnies vs. dragons.'

Where did we lose that trust and mutual appreciation we had for each other? I lavished you with praise even when what I really wanted was to coax just a little more speed out of you (was that too much to ask?). It's not that I was displeased with your performance, my sweet, it was just that I had higher hopes for you.

I knew you were capable of better, Preeti baby, but it never occurred to me that you were consciously holding back. I expected better,  and when I saw you dancing to the tune of that other man's commands, I realized the truth.

The God honest truth is that you let me down. Seeing that other person play you like a piano made me realize that 'us' wasn't meant to be. It was a lie and one that we've lived for too long, my dear.

It's time for me to upgrade, find someone who is better, more worthy of my time. I hope you find someone that you can sync up with. Though to be honest, I just don't give a shit anymore. Hope your processor fries, bitch. 

With Non-Existent Love and all the Pissed off Rage in my Heart,

Murtaza