I remember the first time I held you.
It was Christmas. I was ten. All the other kids at the fancy private school I went to had one except for me. I unwrapped you and there you were, held so delicately in my hands like you were some new born baby. Plastic shell packaging and all. A purple Eletronimax Personal CD Player with 60-Second Anti-Skip Protection.
I couldn’t believe my eyes. My parents even added NSync’s first CD in there (Santa’s name was signed in the card but I knew better). It was probably the best Christmas ever.
I took you everywhere from me. You saved me from the ennui of everyday life.
Now I had music - a soundtrack to the mundane tasks piled upon me by school and my family.
We had a good couple of years together. I couldn’t fit you in my pocket but that was okay. I didn’t mind carrying you around. You were my everything. You were there when I let Oliver McTavish, with his auburn hair and soft brown eyes, listen to this pop punk band I loved. You were there when I first held hands with him.
You were also there when my parents got me an iPod for my twelfth birthday. And you were still there in my desk when I took my iPod out with me the weeks and months after I received it, how it fit perfectly in my pocket like you never had.
But you were my first. My one and only. There will be no one like you. There hasn’t been anyone like you. Thank you for everything.
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