Excerpt from this article:
And there it was: my recently watched list, representing the entire history of our relationship.
There was “Mad Men,” which we watched again from the beginning during a snowstorm, my legs across his lap, the cat asleep on my stomach, Peggy Olson still vulnerable and meek… Before I could think about it, I hit play on “Mad Men.” On some subconscious level I must have been hoping that by replaying the episodes, I could replay the memories, too, and surrender completely to grief.
By the end of the weekend, my friends let me crawl back into my cave. I turned on the TV and was surprised to see something new in my queue: “Jiro Dreams of Sushi.”
I stood up, mouth agape.
I wanted to be angry that he was still using my login — that he could still take from me after leaving me with nothing. But I couldn’t. This was my only connection to him, and changing my password would sever the last artery of this bleeding limb.
I also thought: Maybe if he sees the same titles that I see, he, too, will replay the highlight reel of our happy memories and be warmed by them. And, who knows, that might lead him back to me?