Dear Current Smartphone: I'm writing a letter because I didn't want to text, email, or talk on you. Besides, using you to break up with you seemed kind of heartless.
I wanted to tell you I was breaking up with you in a more eloquent way, but it just sort of slipped out. I guess I could delete what I've written so far and re-word it so the "break-up" reveal is left until later in the letter — it's just that I've already written a bunch and don't really want to go back now.
So let me start here: It's not you. It's totally me.
I mean, it's always sort of about me, isn't it? I'm selfish — especially when it comes to my time. You know better than anyone that I'm big on instant gratification. That's why I used you to Instagram, Tweet, SnapChat, Vine, and Facebook-status update every experience in an attempt to gain speedy praise and validation. Which...brings me to the hard part. Your battery doesn't last long enough for me to do all that stuff as much as I want. No, wait — as much as I need. I know you said other phones had the same problem with maintaining a charge, and that you actually lasted a long time considering all the applications you have running, and I get that. I just think a newer phone can give me more.
And I know this sounds callous, but if I don't explore what those other phones have to offer, I'll always wonder what could have been.
Some piece of you must feel the same way, right? I mean, I see how you dress around me now. Always wearing that drab black silicone case. I know I used your Internet to browse for phones with more naturally colorful exteriors, and again — I'm sorry for that. I guess I just want to say that I'll never forget about how we were before that black case, before I dropped you and cracked your back plate. Yes, I know how my clumsiness upsets you. The thing is: I'm not going to become any less careless. I'm a messy, forgetful person who likes nothing more than to drink to the point of excess and dance near pools of water that could irreparably damage you. And after a lot of thought, I've come to terms with the fact that that's never going to change. I'm finally at the point where I'm starting to accept that I need a sleeker, water-resistant phone.
Maybe leaving you is the wrong move and I'll come crawling back to the sock drawer (which is where I'll be storing you from here on out). But, for now, I ask that you please understand and give me some space and time to explore this next chapter in my life.
Please don't press your power button against your charger (which I will also store in the sock drawer) and turn yourself on accidentally. That would be too hard for both of us. Just...save what little power you've got left in case I want to show my friends that picture of my ex-girlfriend that's still stored in your photo gallery. You know, the one she specifically asked me not to show anyone? I'm actually gonna take a quick look again now, before I turn you off. Jeez, that's incredible.
Anyway, thanks for everything.
I'll always love you,
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