Well, the sim still exists, but the build is gone. When you teleport to the sim, you end up in a store up in the sky. At ground level, there's a sign that says:
"BARCELONA DEL OESTE"
ESTAMOS TRABAJANDO EN ELLO
DISCULPAD LAS MOLESTIAS
It saddens me. The original Barcelona del Oeste was also a mall after all, but it was more than just a mall. It had character. With monuments, a beach, park benches, a cathedral. It was a nice place to hang out and mellow out.
I had wonderful memories with friends dancing inside the Cafe or sitting on one of the tables in the plaza. I remember skating around the perimeter of the sim.
Now, it's gone. Like many of the treasures of Second Life.
Or, maybe it's symbolic. Maybe what I'm really grieving for is the end of my last affair. He hadn't been in for weeks now. I've lost count. I sent him email and joked asking if his doctor forbid him to come into Second Life because I'm likely to cause him a heart attack. He laughed. He replied that it's his computer technician who prevents him from installing Second Life. I figured if he really wanted to, he would find a way; I even told him about the text-based clients and offered to communicate by Skype like we used to. I think he really doesn't want to. He loves me, but he doesn't want to see me. And I couldn't accept that fact. Until now.
I had asked him to play an Il Divo song for me in his radio show when he thinks of me. Now, I listen to Il Divo and, instead of feeling immense joy with the rousing notes, I feel deep sadness.
So I stand here on the empty Barcelona del Oeste beach. After more than four years, I'm still not used to the transience of places and people in this world. And I may never.