"Once upon a time, she loved me. I remember when I helped with her photos, took care of her music, edited movies together. And now... now she left me here, in the coldness of NYC."
Oh poor you, you sad Macintosh you. You were left to dream the eternal slumber on the streets of the city that never sleeps. Here you you are, all alone, out of your old happy, cozy home, freezing under the cold night, alone, with no purpose or meaning whatsoever. Do you remember the warm light of that desk lamp now? Do you remember her smile? Her fingers caressing your keyboard, pumping words and life and her essence into you? Can you still feel the flower she used to put in a blue vase, right next to you?
Yes. I know you can. And you know all that is gone.
You are alone now, and nobody loves you anymore. All the dreams you helped to fulfill, all the mails that you gave away—the mails that made her cry, laugh, hate, and love—, the pictures and movies with her best memories, the songs that made her dance and smile and shed tears of sadness and happiness and raw uncontrolled emotions... all of that is gone. Forever. Left on a sidewalk for someone to pick. Left on the sidewalk to forget.
You are no more, you little computer you. You that once opened her imagination with the scent of your new plastic made in China—"oh, can I really do this? I guess can!"—, the beauty of your blue translucent case—"isn't it a beauty? It matches my wallpaper!"—, and the bong of that unique start-up sound—"so cute!".
But now... now you are no more, my dear iMac. Your time is gone.
There, left alone on a sidewalk of New York, the greatest city of them all. I saw you, dark and rejected, as I came out of a restaurant, and you reminded me... you reminded me of all that and more. For a moment, you became a symbol of times gone by. And for that, I love you so.
Here's a song—David Bowie's best song ever—to remember you by.