As any other day, I start by taking a quick peak at Facebook. I love to see if anything happened while I was asleep, any birthday to celebrate, any messages that I need to respond to, any incident that happened and I need to share my indignation as well.
As the application slowly opens, the first post that appears is a memory from 2 years ago. Instead of browsing, I remain stuck at this post, focused on the picture that is displayed on my small screen.
Damn it Facebook!! Are you trying to give me a heart attack? It’s a picture with me and him, from 3 years ago. He is smiling, happy. He was teasing me and took this picture while I was mad. He uploaded it the day after, in his continuous way of teasing me, and simply commented “She is a dork, but I love her“.
I begged him to remove it but he refused. The more likes this picture had, the happier he was, succeeding in making a joke out of it, with all our friends.
A month after that picture, he died in an accident. It was the last thing to remind me of him and our sweet memories. 2 years later, I’m not completely over that incident. I still feel the emptiness inside of me, eating me up slowly.
I tried to date other people but it was never the same. I never found anyone even slightly as interesting as him, or having the same qualities. I know people are different, but I find myself looking for him in everyone I meet.
I tried to pick up my life and go back to normal. But it is hard.
It has been a while since I looked at your pictures, maybe months; I was forcing myself to be strong. But Facebook, the evil application, threw this picture at my face, just as I was getting ready to start my day.
And I stare and stare. I wish that the “Harry Potter” fantasy with the pictures was real. I wish that you would suddenly move, inside the picture’s frame. That you would wink at me, smile again and speak to me. I wish I could hear your voice again, telling me that I am doing fine. That you are proud of me. Telling me that everything will be fine now.
I just wish that you would comfort me, because you are the one who did it best.
But this stupid picture remains still and my fingers don’t master the courage to scroll down. I finally decide to move; I take a deep breath and delete this notification, in order not to face it again during the day.
But I know that Facebook’s evil plan to torture me will not stop here. The same way this memory appeared for me, it will show for the friends who commented or were tagged to see it. They will start commenting; maybe some stupid friend will tag me, thinking that I needed to be reminded.
As I prepare myself to go out, I take the resolution that I will be strong today, more than the other days. I convince myself that I will see this picture many times today; I need to be brave and face it. I get ready to like the comments and reply “May he rest in peace”. I convince myself that this is the minimum I should do and that I shouldn’t let myself dwell in the memories. This day will be exhausting!
That notification bell becomes a dreadful enemy. The sound of notifications coming in is bringing fear. I hate Facebook and its memories.