GC

I wonder if a compiler ever
sits down with a glass of whiskey regret.

...

I am fed up.

I am fed up
of this ghost that haunts this shell.

So

I cast you
into an Object.

And with time,
references to you
will delete themselves
Quietly.

...

But

I know the pieces fit, because
I watched them fall away.

Curse this silence,
and curse the fact
That at least one of us
is not perfect.

...

It's funny, this loop:

I learn to handle loss
from a compiler.