pixels

I don’t know if I can write about technology. It feels cold somehow, somehow inhuman. It feels dull to write about that green dot beside your profile picture because, well, listen: “Green dot.” “Profile picture.” The words are dead, ugly, unnatural. So it feels dumb to write about the other night. About that little pop up on the side of my screen. About your Steam library being available. It feels silly, almost pointless to write about how, looking at my laptop screen, you returned to me, or I returned to you, and for a moment I saw you sitting there, on your blue chair, playing Okami, smoking something and blowing the smoke out the window and into the street, into the city, into the star-dotted night sky, a sky like the specks on my monitor. I’m watching Netflix. It’s 3am. All of that from a couple pixels.