He pauses. His tongue is slightly out of his mouth while he taps against me for the millionth time. I wonder when he will talk again and connect with me on a different level, but it never seems to happen. I know it’s me that’s changed, but I can’t take the entire blame.
The touch screen was supposed to be a great idea. Sticky fingers press against my body, I can feel their smear stains skidding across. Conversations are captured for life, but words are lost and the tone makes me squirm with boredom. It’s the future, it’s what people want, it’s everything I have, but everything I’m not.
He glides his hands forward and I wish he wouldn’t use me, but what can I say? The connection is lost.
- A Word Of Substance is currently accepting submissions of photography. Your photograph must be of an object to be published on the blog. If interested, please submit your photograph and the name in which you’d like to have appear on the blog to: Alicealgood@gmail.com
Object relations 
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