My old laptop, my old friend, sniff. I have written every serious story on that beast. The matte black exterior holds hundreds of hours of my thoughts. Even though some years ago the down button went the way of my stripey white belt, and the 'L' button only works every other time it's pushed, and I can't close it or unplug it or it dies. All those things are small compared to the fact that it's been across the world with me and held my hands during some really rough patches.
We bought the oldster in 2006, before we changed countries and before I had written my first novel.
My children learned to type on its imperfect keyboard.
Goodbye is lonely.
Good thing I have a shiny gray computer curled up quietly on my lap to keep me company.