Whenever I see you something pulses and rings in the space between my ribs—that feeling you get when you recognize yourself in another being. I am alarmed until I grab you, hold you, slide my fingers along your body. I am more alarmed when you’re not there. It’s an uglier kind of alarm, grating, for without you there is only cacophonous silence and the notion that I’m disconnected from the rest of the world.
You are my constant companion. You know everything about me—my friends, my interests, even my schedule. My pictures are saved in your memory, even the bad ones. I love to scroll through your collection and relive our fondest memories. You manage to answer all my questions before I’ve even finished typing them. You sleep near me at night and wake me up every morning. You shine as my cheeks shine, and when I press you to my cheek you shine all the more.
Defamiliarization, bitches. I really wanted to call this piece "Ode on a Mobile Phone," but it didn't really fit in with the format of the blog. Silly formats. So constricting. Tonight: Improvised Shakespeare. Comedy in Elizabethan English, ftw.