Henry

I remember how we met. You smiled cheekily at me as I wandered past. When I felt your presence on my forgotten hair, I found myself turning around and was immediately sucked in by the new moon of your eyes. I smiled back. There was something about the way you gazed to your left, to the front door of the shop which reeled me towards you. It will always tingle my stomach, making me smile like how you smiled. From that day, when I carried you home, I knew we would be an item.

We've had some fun times. Remember when we first cleaned the tip together? That's right, the living room. You showed such raw power and swiftness in sucking the dirt into a void, that we giggled together until we finished. When we did finish, it was gone midnight. I recall staying up all night and stroking your curvaceous nose before it solidified into a long, hard pole. You knew how to suck. I knew how to blow. It was magical.

And then you blew. Literally, your top burst off and the crimson colour of your body spray into the air. Your giggle was silenced. Never again would I be able to turn you on. And. It. Hurt. I carried your broken frame here with my broken heart. Broken. I found your nozzle blocked with dirt. It's my fault. We looked after each other and I forgot to look after you, my baby. I forgot to change you. I forgot to wash you. I even forgot the way you looked at that Hetti, when we went home on our first day, together. I can never forget my love for you, however. Our love child will be a constant reminder of your kind soul, the mini desk cleaner.

This is your funeral, Henry.