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I wish I could find the strength (or the cowardice) to throw my cell phone down a deep well.  Perhaps, it is a good thing for my friends’ and family’s peace of mind that wells are in such short supply nowadays. 

 What has my little electronic companion done to deserve my ire?  Does it lose the signal at crucial moments?  Does it have an irksome ring?  Does it give away my position during important covert operations? No. No. And I wish, but no.

 The problem lies in how it keeps pulling me back into lives that I wish I could either be a part of or be rid of.  I’m tired of reminiscing with people I love but can never see.  She speaks of an event we didn’t share.  I respond with a story of someone she’s never met.  The common ground shrinks with every conversation, every word, every awkward pause.  When we speak, I want nothing more than a smile. A hug.  Hell, I’d settle for the torturous tickling I always used to complain about.  But there is nothing.  Nothing except the memory of what we once were and that lessens with every call.  The miserable decay of these long distant relationships hurts me more than their end ever could.  Or so I tell myself as I watch my dutiful little phone ring into silence.  

 I wish love were as easy to turn off as a cell phone.

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