Christopher Henry Smith

Independent Arts Administrator

Come on in.  Click around.  Stay awhile.


I want so badly to be kind here.

To stop ignoring you. To stop feigning interest in whatever’s new with you. To stop hesitating to send you away whenever you pop up.

But I don’t know that I can.

And I acknowledge that that is my problem, not yours. And I’m sorry.

I’ve led you on—I see that.

For a time, we were exclusive. Traveling. Learning. Exploring each other and everything the internet had to offer.

And even when I moved on, you were always there in the background; every time I was on, you were there, quietly, just existing. Just warmly being, somewhere far-off but present at the same time.

Then again, a few times in college, after a few drinks, I’d bring you up. I acted like I didn’t care what everyone else said—what I had said time and again. For a few slow, clunky moments, it was just me and you. I know now that that was not something I should have done.


You’re beautiful.

In your own way.

You know I’m not the kind of guy to turn away from a site just because he can see a bit of the coding or a few broken image links. I don’t mind downloading obsolete plugins to try and better see through your eyes that page clearly designed with other browsers in mind.

You asked me the other day if I wanted you to be my default browser. I didn’t know what to say. For a few seconds I hovered over the “submit feedback” option, hoping myself brave enough to share what I have typed into the comment box of my heart a thousand, thousand times. Instead, I hit Ctrl+W.

You’re not safe for me anymore.

I think you should stop coming around here. You should stop sharing updates, trying to connect when I don’t recognize a file type.

I don’t love you anymore.

And maybe I never did.

Chicago, IL

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