Page 29 - My Creative Writing Portfolio

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I did not know how to retire you.
Should I sell you as scrap?
Gift you a second life in another’s hands?
Or keep you at home,
A relic gathering dust and memory?

I wished for the second path,
But no one came forward.
Perhaps this is the common fate
Of aging companions—
Machines, and maybe people too.

Finally, I sold you as salvage.
The money I received felt small,
Almost disrespectful
To years of companionship.
I knew it was practical, inevitable—
Yet the heart resists such logic.

And still, with that modest return,
I chose to smile,
To celebrate what you gave me—
Not metal and circuits,
But time, memory, and voice.

You are gone now,
But somewhere in forgotten files and fading drafts,
You continue to live —
Patient, silent,
And faithful as ever.