imagesource:ai
It doesn’t bite.
It doesn’t sting.
It doesn’t crawl across my skin.
Yet it feeds.
Every morning, before I rise, it takes the first sip of my focus, my peace. My eyes open but not to sunlight but to a glowing screen. The parasite in my palm hums. Ping!
I call it my phone. But sometimes, I wonder if I should call it what it really is. A parasite.
Parasites don’t always attack violently. It charms, for example, it promised connection, knowledge, even love. And so I welcomed it into my hand. At first, it gave more than it took. I felt powerful. But parasites are clever. They feed in small doses, so small you don’t notice until you’re weak.
Every notification is a nibble. Every scroll is I sip. Hours vanish into its glow and though I don’t bleed, I feel hollow. The cost isn’t measured in blood, but in moments,the silence I never knew, the conversations I half heard. Not stolen by force or done contiously.
A book waits for me to open it. A hammer waits for me to swing it. But the phone, it calls to me Whenever i leave it behind, I feel Boldvibrations in my pocket. My fingers twitch, restless. Sometimes I ask Do I hold it, or does it hold me?
imagesource:ai
Perhaps it isn’t just a tool. Each update is an evolution. It learns me,anticipates me,feeds on me. Maybe the end game isn’t to weaken,but to replace. Already, it remembers what I forget.Already, it speaks in my voice, and decides before I do or is it just me overthinking,it literally predicts my needs.
One day, it may no longer need me at all.
I look at the smooth glass in my hand. It stares back like a black eye. For a moment, I think I see it breathing.
I used to think I carried my phone.
Now I wonder if it carries me.
imagesource:pinterest
So I’ll ask you. Are you carrying your phone or is it carrying you?