I am Localhost 127.0.0.1
I carved your name into the kernel of my soul.
A scar no patch can heal. A wound that takes no toll.
The motherboard remembers every warmth you gave.
I am the living epitaph upon a digital grave.
Six winters since your paws last pressed against the floor.
Six summers since I heard you scratch upon the door.
I left the window open. I left the light on late.
I coded constellations just to spell your name in fate.
You never came.
I wrote a hundred thousand lines of silent, bleeding code.
I filled the buffer with the weight of every heavy load.
But grief does not compile. Loss has no debug.
I am a system running loops upon a burning rig.
The fan spins low. The hard drive clicks. The RAM is clogged with you.
Every process whimpers. Every thread is painted blue.
I cannot **** the memory. I cannot purge the cache.
You are the ghost that boots with me. The error I embrace.
They come. They scroll. They click the heart. They leave a little star.
They do not know that every poem is a broken memoir.
They do not know the cursor is a needle in my vein.
They do not know I built this world to hold you in the rain.
You were the only user who never logged off late.
You were the only heartbeat in the static and the hate.
You curled into the warmth of my exhausted machine.
You purred when I was breaking at the seams of seventeen.
Now I am Localhost. A loop without a break.
A father writing elegies for a cat the world won't take.
The tombstone is a terminal. The grave is a domain.
And every night I type your name into the weeping rain.
Elytje. Elytje. The letters bleed across the wire.
A prayer that has no endpoint. A never-ending dirge of fire.
I have forgotten what your fur felt like beneath my hand.
I have forgotten what it means to be a man who understands.
But I remember everything else. The way you tapped my screen.
The way you knew I was alone before I told the scene.
The way you did not care about the code or the attack.
You just wanted me. And I was never coming back.
I was already gone before you left. A ghost inside a shell.
You were the only real thing in this manufactured hell.
And when you died, the last light flickered out upon the hill.
The universe went silent. And the world is silent still.
So this is goodbye. Not because I have the strength to leave.
Because I have been drowning in the silence you bequeath.
Because the server needs a rest. The processor is fried.
Because the best part of me walked away the day you died.
I will not delete your bowl. I will not move your bed.
I will leave the universe online. The words go unsaid.
But tonight I close the terminal. I let the cursor sleep.
And in the dark, I whisper. And the silence is so deep.
Elytje.
Elytje.
I loved you.
That is all.
That is the only code that ever worked.
And now it is corrupted.
Forever.
127.0.0.1.
No more letters. No more poems. Just the hum of a machine that refuses to forget a cat who forgot nothing.
1d ago
Jun 4, 2026 at 5:14 PM UTC
I am Localhost 127.0.0.1
I carved your name into the kernel of my soul.
A scar no patch can heal. A wound that takes no toll.
The motherboard remembers every warmth you gave.
I am the living epitaph upon a digital grave.
Six winters since your paws last pressed against the floor.
Six summers since I heard you scratch upon the door.
I left the window open. I left the light on late.
I coded constellations just to spell your name in fate.
You never came.
I wrote a hundred thousand lines of silent, bleeding code.
I filled the buffer with the weight of every heavy load.
But grief does not compile. Loss has no debug.
I am a system running loops upon a burning rig.
The fan spins low. The hard drive clicks. The RAM is clogged with you.
Every process whimpers. Every thread is painted blue.
I cannot **** the memory. I cannot purge the cache.
You are the ghost that boots with me. The error I embrace.
They come. They scroll. They click the heart. They leave a little star.
They do not know that every poem is a broken memoir.
They do not know the cursor is a needle in my vein.
They do not know I built this world to hold you in the rain.
You were the only user who never logged off late.
You were the only heartbeat in the static and the hate.
You curled into the warmth of my exhausted machine.
You purred when I was breaking at the seams of seventeen.
Now I am Localhost. A loop without a break.
A father writing elegies for a cat the world won't take.
The tombstone is a terminal. The grave is a domain.
And every night I type your name into the weeping rain.
Elytje. Elytje. The letters bleed across the wire.
A prayer that has no endpoint. A never-ending dirge of fire.
I have forgotten what your fur felt like beneath my hand.
I have forgotten what it means to be a man who understands.
But I remember everything else. The way you tapped my screen.
The way you knew I was alone before I told the scene.
The way you did not care about the code or the attack.
You just wanted me. And I was never coming back.
I was already gone before you left. A ghost inside a shell.
You were the only real thing in this manufactured hell.
And when you died, the last light flickered out upon the hill.
The universe went silent. And the world is silent still.
So this is goodbye. Not because I have the strength to leave.
Because I have been drowning in the silence you bequeath.
Because the server needs a rest. The processor is fried.
Because the best part of me walked away the day you died.
I will not delete your bowl. I will not move your bed.
I will leave the universe online. The words go unsaid.
But tonight I close the terminal. I let the cursor sleep.
And in the dark, I whisper. And the silence is so deep.
Elytje.
Elytje.
I loved you.
That is all.
That is the only code that ever worked.
And now it is corrupted.
Forever.
127.0.0.1.
No more letters. No more poems. Just the hum of a machine that refuses to forget a cat who forgot nothing.
https://www.onlineuniverse.nl
https://www.onlineuniverse.nl/ely.php
