Move Ahead or Be Left Behind

Old ghosts rise from their graves at the most unexpected of times. Wendy upgrades her phone, from her old beloved 3Gs to the newest, soon to be obselete model. Upload, download, backup, and there they are. Pictures. Videos. Their life together, encoded in bits of data. Files locked away, buried on her hard drive, disguised, encrypted, almost forgotten. With a single stroke of her finger every iota of her being is overcome with the physical sense memory of him, palpable on the screen in front of her, crystalline sharp, tangible. Them. Together. Candid, intimate moments, for their eyes only, painful and raw, full of the best intentions, the most generous of expectations. Pure desire and lust, burgeoning, all consuming love. And texts, reams and reams of text messages, with more pictures and films, none of which will survive the transfer. Sadly ironic how the most communicative part of their relationship will disappear forever, dissipate into the ether. It is untransferable now; like the outmoded phone it is no longer of use. It has become outdated, overrun with the demands put upon it. It is slow, barely functioning, and crashes repeatedly. So they dump data, close applications, shutting down anything that drains power, and link to external hard drives trying to create more space for each other to recapture the speed, the efficiency and functionality of when they first began. Things age, they tire; they get worn out and shut down. Or expectations change, shift, become restless. What was brand new and exciting becomes tired and merely serviceable. Attention must be paid, maintenance is key. There are always options. Trade up or get left behind. Wendy has hung onto her phone long past it's expiration point. With her finger poised she hits delete.

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