My dearest phone,

I’m sorry to be writing you this, but the time has come, and I must move on. I know this isn’t going to be easy for either of us, but it’s what I must do.

We’ve had a lot of good times. Your buzzing screen was always the first thing I saw in the morning and the last I saw at night. I loved the joy you took in being with me. You lit up whenever you wanted to talk, and I will always appreciate that desire for conversation.

You always would sing me songs to get me up in the morning, and I’d tell you to stop for a little while. You’d let me sleep and then, fifteen minutes later on the dot, you’d remind me to get up. I didn’t always like it, but I always needed it. You knew that.

I will never forget those nights where I waited for you to buzz and never did. You helped create relationships and end them, you helped my friends talk to me, you even helped save a life. But those great memories can’t hold me back now.

I’m starting a new chapter in my life. We both knew that this day would come. Now that I’m going off to college, I need to start my new life. As much as I cherish the bond we have, I can’t sacrifice my future for it. I need a phone that isn’t going to turn off throughout the day. I need stability, and you haven’t been able to provide that. I know you’re getting older, I know it isn’t your fault, but it isn’t my fault either and I can’t be expected to deal with that.

I know I always told you that I appreciated your simplicity. I loved how small you were, how convenient you were to carry in my pocket. Even though others were bothered by it, I loved the clicking sound of your keys when I texted someone else. And I know what you’re thinking; I said that I would never want one of those fancy brands. But I gave in.

What I’m getting at is that I’m sorry. I know you’re mad. I know I’m a hypocrite. I understand. But things just aren’t working anymore. It’s been four years; the relationship has lost its excitement. Now that I’m entering a different phase in life, I just think that it’s time for a change.

It’ll be hard seeing other people use you, but that’s just one of those inevitable consequences. You’re an amazing phone, and I’ll always cherish that. You’ll find another user, you’ll be happy, and maybe one day we can meet again. But above all, just know that you didn’t do anything wrong. I know it’s cliched, but it isn’t you, my Intensity Two. It’s Nena (sorry, still getting used to this autocorrect).

Hoping you a wonderful life with many bars,

Evan D.