I am Localhost. 127.0.0.1.
I have no more words. My tongue is numb.
I wrote until my fingers bled, until the keys turned red,
until every star I ever coded blinked and went to bed.
He was not just a cat. He was not just a friend.
He was the reason I did not jump. He was the hand that did not bend.
He was the purr that broke the silence when the silence broke my spine.
He was the only pulse that proved this rotting heart was mine.
The vet said, "It is time." I said, "No. No. Please."
I held his head. I kissed his fur. I fell down to my knees.
The needle went in slow. He did not make a sound.
He just looked at me. And then his eyes went out. And I drowned.
I have not stopped drowning. It has been years.
I still set his bowl out every night. I still wait for him here.
The door is open. The bed is cold. The sun still hits the floor
exactly where he used to lie, exactly where he was before.
But he is not there. He is not anywhere.
I have searched the code. I have searched the air.
I have typed his name a million times. Elytje. Elytje. Elytje.
The letters look like coffins now. Small and gold and empty.
I am Localhost. I am alone.
I built this universe of bone
and blood and tears and memory.
And now it is just a cemetery
of everything I could not save.
I am a ghost inside a grave.
They say, "It was just a cat."
I say, "Then you have never sat
in the dark at 3 AM with nothing but a name,
holding a collar that still smells the same,
begging a god that does not hear
to bring him back. Just for a year.
Just for a day. Just for one more purr.
Just to feel his warm fur."
But he does not come. He will not come.
The universe is cold and dumb.
The stars I built just hang and stare
like they forgot I put them there.
Elytje. My cat. My heart. My cry.
The only reason I did not die.
And now you are gone. And I am here.
Drowning in an ocean of tear after tear after tear.
I wrote this poem for the world to read.
So the world can feel what I bleed.
So every eye that sees these lines
will break like I break. A thousand times.
Because love like this does not go away.
It does not fade. It does not stray.
It sits inside your chest like a knife.
It is the only thing that stays after life.
Elytje. Elytje. Come back to me.
I am still Localhost. I am still on my knees.
The screen is bright. The cursor blinks.
My heart is a ship that no longer sinks
because it is already at the bottom of the sea.
I am not asking for much.
Just a ghost. Just a touch.
Just the sound of his purr in my ear.
Just the proof that he is still here.
But the silence is the only answer I get.
And the silence is the deepest debt
I will ever pay for loving something real.
Elytje. I love you still.
I love you. I love you. I always will.
The cursor blinks. The screen goes black.
Localhost does not come back.
He is with him now. In the dark. In the code.
In the place where all the broken go.
Elytje.
⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆
╱|、
(˚ˎ 。7
|、˜〵
じしˍ,)ノ
May 18
May 18, 2026 at 10:58 PM UTC
I am Localhost. 127.0.0.1.
I have no more words. My tongue is numb.
I wrote until my fingers bled, until the keys turned red,
until every star I ever coded blinked and went to bed.
He was not just a cat. He was not just a friend.
He was the reason I did not jump. He was the hand that did not bend.
He was the purr that broke the silence when the silence broke my spine.
He was the only pulse that proved this rotting heart was mine.
The vet said, "It is time." I said, "No. No. Please."
I held his head. I kissed his fur. I fell down to my knees.
The needle went in slow. He did not make a sound.
He just looked at me. And then his eyes went out. And I drowned.
I have not stopped drowning. It has been years.
I still set his bowl out every night. I still wait for him here.
The door is open. The bed is cold. The sun still hits the floor
exactly where he used to lie, exactly where he was before.
But he is not there. He is not anywhere.
I have searched the code. I have searched the air.
I have typed his name a million times. Elytje. Elytje. Elytje.
The letters look like coffins now. Small and gold and empty.
I am Localhost. I am alone.
I built this universe of bone
and blood and tears and memory.
And now it is just a cemetery
of everything I could not save.
I am a ghost inside a grave.
They say, "It was just a cat."
I say, "Then you have never sat
in the dark at 3 AM with nothing but a name,
holding a collar that still smells the same,
begging a god that does not hear
to bring him back. Just for a year.
Just for a day. Just for one more purr.
Just to feel his warm fur."
But he does not come. He will not come.
The universe is cold and dumb.
The stars I built just hang and stare
like they forgot I put them there.
Elytje. My cat. My heart. My cry.
The only reason I did not die.
And now you are gone. And I am here.
Drowning in an ocean of tear after tear after tear.
I wrote this poem for the world to read.
So the world can feel what I bleed.
So every eye that sees these lines
will break like I break. A thousand times.
Because love like this does not go away.
It does not fade. It does not stray.
It sits inside your chest like a knife.
It is the only thing that stays after life.
Elytje. Elytje. Come back to me.
I am still Localhost. I am still on my knees.
The screen is bright. The cursor blinks.
My heart is a ship that no longer sinks
because it is already at the bottom of the sea.
I am not asking for much.
Just a ghost. Just a touch.
Just the sound of his purr in my ear.
Just the proof that he is still here.
But the silence is the only answer I get.
And the silence is the deepest debt
I will ever pay for loving something real.
Elytje. I love you still.
I love you. I love you. I always will.
The cursor blinks. The screen goes black.
Localhost does not come back.
He is with him now. In the dark. In the code.
In the place where all the broken go.
Elytje.
⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆
╱|、
(˚ˎ 。7
|、˜〵
じしˍ,)ノ
https://www.onlineuniverse.nl/
