Dear Nexus One,

Even though I am using you right now, in fact I am currently upgrading your OS to another custom OS that a very active developer community is tirelessly working to perfect, I am speaking to you from beyond the grave. Your time on this earth was too short. In fact, it was murder. You were killed before your time, and you were just starting to shine through the dark trenches of Android’s harsh climate. You were like a high resolution diamond in a sea of smudgy, inferior products, all clamoring to grab a piece of your awesomeness.

There is a beautiful thing you once told me. When I unlocked your bootloader, instead of telling me you were going to self-destruct in some drama queen firestorm, you smiled and lifted your eyes to me, exclaiming, “Thank you, Daniel. That feels much better.” Well, you’re welcome, old friend. And even if I broke your warranty, our friendship was cemented forever in that moment. I haven’t put you down since. (I even sleep with you occasionally, but don’t tell your sister, HTC Legend).

There was that time I dropped you. I am so, so sorry. You didn’t deserve the cold, harsh reality of that bathroom tile. When I gingerly picked you up, and you peered at me with that loose plastic eye of yours, I swear I let out a tear. For I knew my life without you was going to be so bare, so meaningless. But miraculously you came back to me! I applied a bit of pressure (you always liked it rough), pulled up my sleeves and got to work. I put all your errant parts back together, and though you struggled for breath, your spark was not yet out.

And now, officially, you have been given the military send-off. You and a couple hundred thousand of your brethren will be remembered for moving Android forward in such significant ways, the impact will likely only be felt in the coming years. You were the first device to have Eclair and the first to have Froyo. And Google, while they seem to have given you up for permanent adoption, won’t stop caring for you. For they are fully aware you are their true baby, their Splice experiment gone horribly wrong and ecstatically right all at once. You are a fever dream: hardly real, and yet proof there are beautiful other things out there.

You have left a legacy. Since your birth, manufacturers have been forced to improve their own code to meet your high standards. Your sleek body, your gorgeous screen. All enviable and tough to beat. You have your problems, but what children don’t? Ultimately you are the quiet, brilliant kid in the corner to Motorola’s loud, brash bully. You will always be my favourite, my true love.

Even as you sit here next to me, unaware of your impending damnation, I weep for your limited future. You won’t soon be forgotten to the ocean’s endless bottom, but eventually, like any once-brilliant actor past his prime, you will be replaced with someone stronger, faster, more productive. To me, though, you’ll always be Baby, and, baby, Baby comes first.

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