Corrupted Elegy

I built a cathedral from deleted files and prayed to the error messages that flickered like candles in the dark of a dead hard drive. The congregation was all the things I meant to say but didn't send. Drafts. Unsaved documents. The last paragraph of a letter I wrote to you the night you left and then selected all and held delete until the cursor blinked alone in the clean white nothing. 404: the person you were looking for has been moved or no longer exists. I keep refreshing anyway. I keep refreshing anyway. I keep refreshing anyway.