Hi.
What’s up?
Oh, right.
I see you,
but you’re not me;
you don’t see me.
Only through a one-sided screen,
I wake up to your face,
logging in, with a few taps;
your everyday life, your best moments,
I screenshot, memorize the most obscure details.
Two silver piercings on your left earlobe,
one on your right, complete with a helix.
The homecoming dress that you re-wore to prom.
Your makeup habits, the brand of your sunscreen,
The way you stood on a sunset-lit beach, heads tilted,
Your eating disorder, the way you’re proud of it, your mirror selfies.
The bruise on your left knee that lasted a month after playing volleyball.
How much you miss your ex while you post pictures of the two of you,
blurring out his face, photoshopping yours, pretending that you’re over it, making faces; it’s not me.
The exact amount you make working minimum wage at the local McDonald’s, down to every last cent.
Your best friend and you, always posting, tagging each other, but I know that you both are too scared to find better friends.
The fake that you used to get into a night club, downing a martini while adjusting the speck of foundation peeling off your face.
And the decision you made that night, on the wheels, highway, posting about it, temporary and you deleting it just hours later—what saint could have saved you?
Blood rushes to your cheeks artificially as you squeeze them painfully, to make yourself look good on camera without blush, the no-makeup look, and you open a mouth full of filtered-perfect teeth and grimace one eye shut.
But you don’t know me, although maybe be more situationally aware; you could probably find me quickly if you wanted to.
I’m not just one of your thousands of empty-minded followers.
I’m always near you, closer than anyone else.
Not the screen.
Look back.
It’s me.
Hello, and
goodbye.