Who Are You Talking To?

Insecurity in the age of chat apps.

I trust you but I don’t trust anyone with you.

I watch you half-drowned in conversations with strangers half a world (or one street) away, the twinkle in your eyes rivalling the glow of your phone as it beeps and vibrates with each message you receive.

Damned machine, slowly stealing you away from me.

I want to ask you what's so funny but I just sit and sulk like a too-tall toddler, hoping that you'll glance up long enough to see my thinly-veiled pain.

But all you ever do is absentmindedly ask how I am, no eye contact, and my noncommittal grunted responses are always good enough for you.

I tell myself that I’ll tell you how absent you are, how invisible I feel and how much I miss the old us, but the insensible adult in me tells the sensible child not to be petty.

“These things happen.”

“Get over it.”

“Make your own friends.”

But you are my friend, my best friend, and nothing can fill the vacuum you leave behind when you withdraw into your world of abbreviations, emojis and inside jokes I'm always on the outside of.

I feel like a stranger in the life I got used to since what seems a lifetime ago.

I'm still next to you, but a sky-scraping titanium wall couldn't divide us any further.

I’ll take any contact with you at this point, even the kind that comes with a fight.

“You’re overreacting.”

But what if I am not?

What if this is how the end begins, love slowly going sour like liquid milk left unopened goes through phases of spoilage until it's undrinkable?

I love you too much to let go.

I want you too much to fade away.

Sensible child over insensible adult.

Who are you talking to?

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