I lost my phone to the tides of time today. How it happened is not a topic I can give a clear answer to. The fact that it survived for nearly five years is a matter of surprise. It was gradual process of erosion by tiny over-enthusiastic hands that can’t completely hold the mammoth contraption they are trying to manage. After several thousand falls, the said contraption gave up the fight against its destiny.
I love my phone. I depend on it so much that I feel like my hands have been cut off my body and I can do nothing but walk around aimlessly, cursing myself for not getting a tampered screen after the last one broke. For the past two years, my husband has been trying to lure me into buying a new phone and I have been resisting him. I hope a new screen would solve the problem, but I am afraid, my husband might finally get his wish.
Right now, I feel crippled as I type this post on my laptop sitting properly, rather than my usual haphazard, half-lying-down, quarter-walking and quarter-standing-in-kitchen style. I keep on looking at my right where I usually keep my phone, looking for messages, alarms, calls, time (I have a clock on the wall right in front of me.)…
I am feeling lost and not found…
Photo by Hardik Sharma on Unsplash
Short Stories | Fish-eye Perspective 