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I once thought that the world of code was a cold pile of 0s and 1s, until the arrival of Cursor, which acted like a gentle guide, leading me through the maze of code.
Its smooth autocomplete, powerful code generation, and tailored tweet drafts have amazed me. The $20 monthly investment once seemed worthwhile, as it liberated part of my creativity, allowing me more time to focus on more important tasks.
However, recently, this once-great mentor has frequently emitted the mournful cry of “connection failed.” I tried various methods provided by technical support—restarting, reinstalling, checking the network… like an experienced doctor facing a patient with an incurable ailment, I was at a loss.
Each failed connection felt like a dull knife, slowly severing my trust in it. Network connection issues are undoubtedly fatal for a tool that lives on the internet. It’s like a singer losing their voice, a painter losing their brush, or a dancer losing their legs.
Cursor, a name that once shone brightly in my heart, began to cast a shadow. I had envisioned countless beautiful futures with Cursor: it would help me complete projects faster, provide smarter suggestions, and even inspire my code creation. Yet, reality cruelly pulled me back to the ground.
Every day when I open Cursor, the first thing that greets me is not a tidy code interface, but the cold “connection failed.” This experience is like opening the door on a frigid winter day, only to be met not by the warmth of a fire, but by a biting cold wind.
When I was a lawyer, I independently developed the firm’s management system, deeply aware of the fragility and strength of code. A single line of erroneous code can lead to the collapse of an entire program; whereas a single line of excellent code can change the world. Cursor was once the latter, but now, due to its own issues, it is gradually becoming the former.
I once praised Cursor’s intelligence, depicting the convenience it brought me. Yet today, I must write an elegy for it.
“Connection failed,” these simple two words, announce the “death” of a tool. It is not just a technical failure, but a collapse of trust.
The $20 a month is not merely a monetary expense for me; it represents my expectations and trust in Cursor. And now, that trust has vanished. I have ultimately decided to give up on Cursor, relinquishing this $20 monthly investment.
This was not an easy decision, but a reluctant choice made after deep consideration. I am grateful for everything Cursor once did for me, for the help it provided in automatically publishing tweets and more. But now, I must look forward to find new tools and new partners.
Cursor, rest in peace. Though you once shone brightly, you have ultimately fallen. This elegy is both a farewell to you and a wake-up call for myself: the path of technology is endless, and only through continuous learning and progress can one avoid being left behind by the times. Furthermore, when choosing tools, one must be cautious—selecting stable and reliable ones is essential for them to truly serve me.
The departure of Cursor is a small regret for me, but life must go on. I will continue to explore the world of code, keep recording life with words, and pursue my dreams. And Cursor will forever remain in my memory, as a beautiful recollection and a profound lesson.
