5 small pleasures we lost to technology.

There’s no denying the speed the worlds turning and the way life’s changing. Technology is taking over and destroying the little things as it goes. We’re nostalgic for the things that are now only a memory. We let a smile escape across our lips at the very thought of the things we once took for granted.
techolongy1. Film Cameras. Cameras once refused to let you live behind the lens. You weren’t able to fill your camera roll with pictures that will one day be as lost as your phone on a sticky bar floor. A single snap is no longer enough. You need angles, poses, unnatural moments. You will never know the life that’s lost between reality and your phone screen.

 
2. Renting a Movie. Wandering amongst the high shelves of Blockbuster was a Friday night on it’s own. Pointing at movie covers and laughing at the times you saw it with friends or shaking your head at your once celebrity crush. We’ve lost adventure to convenience and the sound of laughter to hollow clicks.

 
3. Desktop Computers. It was sneaking downstairs at midnight as your family laid fast asleep. You turned on the computer and cringed as the start up sound echoed through the house. Your bed was empty, your heart was racing. You couldn’t pull a computer on your lap, or check your favourite sites on your phone. You had to sneak back into bed a few hours later, smirking at your midnight adventure.

 
4. MSN. There once was a time you could escape the madness of the world outside of your home. You could leave the drama, the stories, the gossip as words behind the computer screen, waiting for you to come back. Text messages have become haunting. Leaving us unable to run without the promise of being chased.

 
5. Calendars. There used to be one benefit in starting a new year of school which was, a brand new agenda. Fresh sheets waiting to be personalized. Marked with doodles from class boredom. Hearts filled with monthly crushes. Personalized script reminding of weekend plans. Pages ripped out to pass to friends in class. The older we get, the clearer we can see that paper tells a better story then letters on a screen ever will.

love comes back.

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The hardest part about loving someone is that when they’re packing their boxes, you’re forced to pack your own. We hate when people change our plans. When life is taken from our control. When walking away is all there’s left to do.

But sometimes people turn around. Sometimes love comes back, and this time you’ll hold them tighter. You’ll listen longer. You’ll love them better. Love is many things. It’s flawed in many forms. But love is when they forgive who you were in order to love who you are.

they don’t understand.

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They don’t understand. They don’t understand why you’ve collapsed on the side of the road, sobbing hysterically into your hands. They don’t understand why their messages sit in your inbox, unacknowledged for days. They don’t understand why your mind wanders to dark places, despite their constant pleas to cheer up.

Don’t get it wrong, they care – but they don’t understand.

They don’t understand how you’ve lost respect for life, how you can’t find anything to live for. You hold onto the familiar, aching to relive the simpler days. They don’t understand how you’ve stopped dreaming. You’ve stopped embracing the warmth of fresh laundry. You’ve stopped savoring the last sip of your morning tea. You’ve stopped smiling at the innocent, young faces you see on the street. You’ve stopped living.

tell your tragedy.

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You don’t have to write a novel, fill a gallery with art or direct a play to tell your story. Find a way that works. Find a way to tell your tragedy. To inspire the ones on the same path. Your story is the cuts beneath your skin. The bags beneath your eyes. The dirt beneath your nails. Not everyone can see and not everyone will understand but, the ones that do need you to use the dirt on your hands to help them build their own castle in the sand.

this time could be different.

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You wait for someone to come into your life and tell you you’re perfect. Tell you they can’t live without you; you’re always on their mind. But when those feelings are foreign and you hear them with a meaningless ring, you panic.

You can’t believe someone’s pushing your hair back to better look into your eyes. You can’t believe they’re holding your hand, despite your nail biting habit and horribly dry skin. You can’t believe they sacrificed their Saturday night to find the shiny pieces of your shattered self. You can’t believe it, so you don’t. You run from the possibility that this time could be different.