Published: March 30, 2011

Despite what it says on your box, you are not a “smart phone.” No, to me you are a genius life-partner.

In fact, you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You make my life worth living. You complete me. I feel silly using all these clichés, but that’s what you do to me. You leave me senseless, unable to control myself. I haven’t felt this much love for a piece of technology since my first mp3 player, and when it died, I thought I’d never feel this way again. But five weeks ago, that changed.

I’ve never been with a phone that could please me in so many different ways. Your calls come through without interruption. Your full keyboard frees me from T9’s guesswork. Your browser helps me settle my regular arguments with friends. Your BBM opens up new worlds of flirtatious/passive-aggressive behavior. In short, you rock my socks.

I must admit that after my last two phones, a pair of soup cans and a long string would have been an upgrade. My first phone had two features, making occasional calls and the ability to cause concussions if thrown with enough force. That unfulfilling relationship lasted two years.

My rebound phone lasted much longer than I expected. We got along well. It definitely had large flaws, like freezing up when the temperature dropped below 40 degrees and being egg-shaped. But it also made me a man when it introduced me to texting. In return, I forgave it for sometimes dying when it had a full battery and having a notoriously unreliable alarm clock. I thought that was as good as it got, so I stayed with it for four years.

And then I found you. Our relationship started so effortlessly, theology classes could use it as an argument for God’s divine plan. Remember how we first met through a mutual friend? I would test you out whenever she left you alone. It was love at first mobile Facebook status, but I had to get out of my boring commitment before we could be together.

I still feel a little guilty about how we carried on behind my old phone’s back. I shouldn’t have waited until you arrived in your sleek packaging to break the news. That weekend before I ported my number and my heart to you was more awkward than watching “Black Swan” with your grandma. But in the end, it was more than worth it.

You should know that at first, you had competitors for my love. I could’ve gotten the new iPhone. Most of my friends were rooting for an Android phone. I had one-night stands with each of them (don’t worry, it was long before I found you), but they just didn’t do it for me like you do. They weren’t phones; they were toys. I saw all of my friends fall for their flashy style and endless array of games and apps. Three weeks after getting an iPhone, what used to be a man would regress to a child playing with his GameBoy. Nobody could get work done on something with so many games.

You, however, are the well-rounded machine of my dreams. With your combination of reliable email/Internet access and a handful of power apps that allow me to update Twitter, check scores and stay updated on current events, you excite without distracting. You know my schedule from Facebook events. You wake me up with a polite, hopeful tone. You fill all my needs without turning me into an iPod zombie.

People tell me you’re too old fashioned with your keyboard and no touch screen, but I don’t fall for all the glitz of a fancy screen. Touch screens crack and scratch, and their users can’t type without looking at the screen. As much as I love looking at your classy black body and bright display, when I’m texting in class I need to be as stealthy as possible. Your raised buttons are pleasing to the touch and let me check my Twitter under the table.

After more than a month together, you know my flaws, but you love me just the same. Even more, you help me get past these defects, especially my infantile memory. I couldn’t remember even simple things like coffee orders, directions or my own schedule. I used to sit at my laptop and strain to remember all the emails I needed to send. Until there was you. Now I can take down notes, look up maps, check my calendar and send emails when I think of them. Like a knight in stylish, black armor, you saved me from the black-hole that is my long-term memory.

I love all these things about you and more, but I’ve already spent too much time on my laptop typing this letter. Just know that I will never leave you.

Love, forever and always,