The picture encompasses so much.

Oh Mr. iPod, how I love you so. Reminiscing about all the good times you and I had seems like only yesterday; now your life may be evanescing from your now cold metallic body. Indeed, how cold that steel body is.

Unaware of your immanent fate, I saw that Apple logo of which I have become accustomed to, yet it was not the same. So conveyed to me by you in the way your little iPod soul could, with an error icon-- not just an error icon, an icon of lamentation; it was icon of morose. The dark days of your life had begun.

In a state of panic, I restlessly searched for something to assuage your pain. I, unfortunately, could not. It seems you were not meant to live out a pain-free year of life.

Soon I hope to send you off. Your silicon heart will soon be repaid, or so I hope, back to its convivial vitality of yesteryear. Yet will your, and my, sentiments be repaired so easy?I do hope so.

So when the fateful day comes in which I release you to the obscure box, into this obscure world with the paternal pains of which plauge this situation, I will miss you, iPod. I will miss you earnestly.