I’ve missed you. Hope your birthday went well, and that your hangover this morning wasn’t too bad. I kind of think of social media service years as dog years, so that makes you a couple of years younger than me.
You’ve changed since we used to hang out a lot. But then so have I, so that’s cool. You introduced me to a lot of people. Or maybe I introduced myself to them. Can’t really remember. For me it was all about control. Perhaps it always has been. It doesn’t take long to have a thought, and it doesn’t take long to type ‘LOL’ or ‘this is crap’, but it does take some control over language to make those very few letters actually worth reading. That’s what I miss.
Me? I’m back here, on the road, as you can see. I carry what I need, and for the time being nomadic living suits me. For a while I was very comfortable in the house of your blue and white colleague. Less so of late.
Now it seems you keep illustrious company. You help to make the egos of celebrities even bigger, and help to verify that they actually exist. Which is nice. To be fair, you give the oppressed populace a voice too, in some countries anyway.
Those nights when we used to sit up late, setting the world to rights, and those early mornings when we would start all over again, seem like a very distant memory now. It’s almost as if I was someone else. I probably was. I seem to need more sleep nowadays, which is curious because I thought people needed less sleep as they aged. You of course never sleep. Which is maybe what gave you charisma and is I guess one of the reasons why I used to be one of your advocates: that energy represented so insistently by so many voices scrolling down the page.
Truth be told, that little blue bird should really be a Lotus flower. But I don’t regret my time spent on your island, wondering why anyone should try to accomplish anything when they can just chew on micro-posts and watch the waves frothing up the beach. Although a more accurate reflection may be that the Lotus flower convinces you that you are accomplishing something. Once tire of the reflection though, and feel the urge to look beyond the beach at the faces behind the micro-posts, and the mirror may crack.
That’s about all for now. Hope to be able to hang out again sometime soon, just like we used to. I’m not superstitious, so cracked mirrors mean little to me.