I realized I loved you unconditionally and how committed to you I was, despite my overwhelming fear of intimacy after it was too late to tell you. Resurrecting you was impossible; you were no longer within my reach. I tried talking to your ghost; though I wasn’t convinced you could evolve into ghostly material. A year later, I still mourn your death, when I should be celebrating your life; for that I am sorry. I’m hoping this will help me find closure because dear vibrator, you always delivered, and your model is obsolete, even at the vintage-of-vintyagest porn stores. I kick myself daily, faced with the truth: all you needed was two new Duracells.
