7am...

7am on a Saturday morning

By

Ross E F Lombardi

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You know what would be Far nicer than making comments on Fartbook and Twatter at 7am on a Saturday morning?

Making someone you love a cup of tea in bed and chatting, about your plans for the day, your shared memories, and a thousand other little minor things.

The body warmth, mild scent, and presence of emotional intimacy as you talk about something simple, like, what brand of beans to buy, or which walk route through some woodland is nicer. Or the best name for a hypothetical cat.

Feeling the same sunlight through the window, breathing the same closed off room air, and feeling that gentle affection for eachother.

But that can never be 'me' now.

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So do you know what I am ACTUALLY doing at 7am on a Saturday morning?

I am, instead, making comments on Fartbook and Twatter.

I doom-scroll, make comments on the internet, and scream into a neon green digital void, a demonic maw with endless teethy rows of sharpest plastic..

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This is who I am now.

A lone nut with keyboard...

...who types shit...

... Because they are to unredeemable to deserve a morning hug and a cup of tea in bed with anyone special.

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