XXX-XXX-XXXX
I deleted someone’s number this morning. The problem is I remember it anyway, and now it just keeps running through my head. Leave it to My Fake Boyfriend to laugh at me:
My Fake Boyfriend: Hahahaha.
That's kinda funny, you have to admit.
I'm sorry about the meta problem.
But the whole number thing is funny.
I forgot your number! But I remember your number!
Grr.
Also not funny was the woman on the train across from me this morning. Have you ever seen a human who looks two breaths from death? The color of her skin was yellowish-white—not pasty, more made of paste. And her eyes, rimmed in raw red. The bit of hair that peeked out from under her hat was absent of color. Her entire face dragged downward—mouth frowned down, cheeks sweeping her jaw.
I thought about how things end: Human connections, humans. But this is the whole problem: That lady was still alive, and people remain forever connected after they’ve loved or hated each other. I know, maybe this is not a “problem.” But it feels like one today.
posted by TK @ 10:25
2 comments
2 Comments:
I clean up my contacts every year or so, and when I do I am always reminded of the impermanence of relationships - in business and otherwise. And yet I still remember my first girlfriend's phone number...
Your account of the woman on the train is haunting. Not only because it is sad, but also because it is universal.
As always, I'm glad I visited.
thanks, esb.
pain.
the great unifier.
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