Clearing Out the Cache

The algorithm doesn't know that you packed your bags and left

It keeps suggesting movies about a culinary theft

And the smart-lights in the hallway still turn pink at 8:04

Like they’re waiting for your heavy footsteps at the door

I am living in a house built by an artificial mind

That remembers every single piece of us we left behind

Your profile's still an icon on the family streaming plan

A little cartoon avatar of a person I once ran And it’s

a modern kind of haunting in the wires of the wall

Data points and history that refuse to fade at all

I am erasing cookies,

I am clearing out the cache

Trying to pretend our three whole years weren't made of ash

But the cloud keeps your memory perfectly preserved In the targeted advertisements

that I didn’t deserve

Your predictive text is hidden in the muscle of my thumb

Typing out your middle name before the syllables can come

I got an automated notification from a calendar we shared Reminding me

to buy the coffee

that you never really cared for

The Wi-Fi connects automatically to your ghost

Of all the ways a heart can break,

this hurts the most: To be edited out of a photo by

a generative line

While the software insists that everything is fine

Then the phone buzzes hard in the palm of my hand.

"Memories from this day four years ago." It’s a video of us

laughing on a beach in the sand.

I hit delete.

The screen asks: "Are you sure?"

And for the first time in months,

I don't breathe anymore.

System update complete. Optimizing storage.

Removing unneeded data.

Blank screen. (ahhhh)