Tuesday May 14, 2013
Mark. R. Slaughter
I don’t want a picture of us kissing. I found one, just now, and it gave me a shock of electricity in through my belly button. It’s harder when these things are stored on hard-drives. It’s harder to be sure that we’re rid of them. These pictures; these e-mails professing love that has now turned to something else, something different, not disdain but…; these songs that you recorded on your GarageBand and sent late one night so that I would wake up to it in the morning. It’s harder to be sure we’re rid of those such things. When it was a print, the fingerprints bright, the colours lovely, when it was a print, it was easier to burn, to tear, to shred and recycle. The sound of the photo being dropped in the “Trash” is so much less satisfying. Will I regret it? Will I regret that the footprint of you and I is, perhaps, closer to being nothing at all? What have you done with the photos and the e-mails and the songs?