Today we are ensconced in the snow globes of our lives. Shook up. Fleeting flakes of conversations speckled in the glow. Words tapping against the glass. Floating. Short strings of thoughts abruptly spit. Press send.
Messages received without a face. Letters etched upon a screen. Content pruned back. Character limits.
Limited character. Restricted. Endless waves splashing on shores of buried thoughts. No time to dig them out. A communication tsunami. Hand-held. Clipped-on. Ear-buds. Plugged-in. Tuned-out. High-volume. Press delete.
Can you see my face? Can you touch my hand? Can you hear my voice? Can you taste my meaning?
Come here. Sit down. Let’s dine together. Refresh yourself. Talk to me. I want to see your crinkled face, taste your tears, feel your trembling limbs, hear the space between your words. No dropped signals.