Ode To The Lost

Now that I have written the title I realise that I am currently at a loss as to what conventions constitute an ode, in fact the following post it totally void of any recognised poetic meter, rhythym or rhyme, so really I am just having a whinge. Enjoy.

Just to clarify about the title- although this is not an ode, it is still to The Lost.

Setting: The Couch of a good friend of P's and mine. 
A couch that has been frequented whenever in need of a good cathartic experience.

We only just met - I think that is the nail that shoots the sharpest pain in the chest. This is too soon, this separation is far too soon. I didn't like you at first. My taste is simplicity, easy and here you come shouldering into my life with all your complexities. You never seemed to respond the same way twice.  There were days that I wanted to scratch out your eyes, throw you against the wall, break your face.  I am so use to be the person with the power, the one in control, and then you manage to push all my buttons.

Then it changed. I can't say when or how exactly, but I realise now that I loved you. I never told you.  I miss you,  your form, the way you feel in my hands, your smooth cherry black complexion.  You helped me when I was lost - what am I supposed to do now when I don't remember my way home? You kept me organised, with you gently waking me every morning I was never late for anything.  I loved spending Sunday mornings in bed with you - just laying there for hours, listening to music.

Now, so suddenly, you're gone. Dead.
Dead in the toilet, and nothing can resurrect you. Not even two days in a bag of rice. I can't replace you, my
Nokia E97.

I feel like crying.