No one's really asked me that, but I guess I've asked myself now. Why do I write? I don't know that anyone else in my family likes to write. I just like to do it myself. It hasn't been my dream since I was little, my dream back then was to play flute. I always have had a good imagination though. I guess I still do. But I still don't see exactly why I write. I guess I just don't know. I like it. I've got stories in my head that I don't know exist until I write them down, but it feels so good to get them down. I don't so much want to get a point of something across, except that a good novel can be written without romance, but I mostly just want to write a good story.
*~*~*~*~*
The old Windows '98 computer,
served us so well.
It held the files we needed,
And played some games to boot.
But we had to do some more,
So we put on newer software.
It slowed the poor thing down,
But it held together bravely,
And never let us down.
When we needed it no more,
And got a new computer,
We stuffed it in a closet,
And barely used it since.
After a while I picked it up,
And he started faithfully.
I typed some things on him,
And worked on websites too.
But a few weeks ago,
He had been put up for a long time,
I tried to start him up,
But he had died, he was no more.
I sighed and called my mom,
but there was nothing we could do.
He's still in the closet,
I want to save him too.
But he seems to have died,
Never to boot again,
I don't know that I can do anything for him
But write this Ode to My Poor Old Laptop.
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