God, it feels like yesterday, though really it was decades ago. You and I spent so much time together. Well, not you per se, something that became you; something that you consumed. Oh, the hours spent engrossed in every frame of those GIFs, face inches from the screen, zoom at 500%, lovingly painting every little pixel of blood pouring from some unfortunate stick man; doing my best to imitate the contemporary masters. We were in sync, program and purpose—the beautiful simplicity of adolescent love.

In high school, we drifted apart; sadly, so often the case. I discovered the relentless competition of teenage social hierarchies, driving around for hours in shitbox cars, alcohol; you, apparently, were busy conquering the world.

We still hung out a bit, but you weren’t really part of the clique I wanted to be seen with. You introduced me to my future career, for which I’ll always be thankful. Dw and I, we built some silly things with tables. We had fun, but it wasn’t serious.

But then, college! That intoxicating first taste of true independence! We were back, baby. Political posters in Ps, typographic animations with Ae, Pr for music videos, custom flash games (whoops)—so many new experiences and creations, most of which embarrass me now, but still—in the moment, it felt right; it was right. We kept it private, sure, but everyone was doing it, and I think you secretly wanted it that way.

After school, as I settled into my career, our relationship took on a different energy. The neon-glow excitement was gone, sure, but in its place was a kind of tranquil comfort; safety, stability. We made posters, infographics, brochures. We did our first billboard; our first freelance project that paid over a grand. We designed a local mag, and every week experienced the joy of its birth from screen to physical object. It was a different kind of love: mature and steady.

But then, everything changed. You probably don’t even like hearing Their name. Fi—I’ll spare you that at least. It felt like it happened overnight. Or maybe over years, it’s hard to say now. Everything felt different. You were yesterday’s news; the aging actress pushed out by the young upstart. Played out, used up.

Over time, I started to resent you. I started to resent the way you worked, the way you looked, the price I had to pay. I don’t know exactly when it started or how it came to dominate my thinking. I just know that it did, that I couldn’t think about you or be with you without feeling a deep sense of frustration, anger even.

And now, you ask even more? We barely see each other. Hours a week, if that. A generative fill here, a vector trace there. I can’t do it anymore. I can’t justify it. There are others that do what you do. I wish it didn’t end this way, I wish you could have changed with me, grown with me. But here we are.

I’ll never forget what we did together, the times we had, the things we made. And if there are some things I can no longer do without you, well, so be it—within every buried relationship are shining moments of redemption. It doesn’t mean they justify its resurrection, or balance the scales against the damage done.

So, that’s it then. Farewell, Adobe.