You don't bring me flowers...

Its scary to think that all tangible evidence of our existence here in this lifetime is locked away in these black boxes we frantically type into and stare at all day. I used to write letters and send cards. Used to journal all of my thoughts and feelings. Now, I have no idea where that journal is, and have no written account of the last year and a half of my life.
Back when technology was not so immediate, I wrote everything down. Saved planners with significant dates written in. Wall calendars with circles and smiley faces reflecting good times. Now, its here, in this digital, censored record of the day to day. With out the text messages or emails, how will I ever remember, when I'm old, what the significance of a glance felt like? If this hard drive fails, or this url gets wiped out, there goes the neighborhood, and the memories it contains. When I'm 90 years old, will I still remember this night? Where a mere two took on the bar and beat the trivia score? Or the after hours sing-a-long, snuggled around the piano? When Fran ruined the piano by spilling the bottle of Jameson on it? How can I remind myself of the heartbreak that feels constantly at the ready? Or the excitement of feeling like I'm the verge of something huge?
My heart aches.

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