Death in the Age of Social Media

I read her tweets often

when my brain makes me think of her,

and not just because of the pain of the loss,

but because of what it means for my own mortality.

And I read her thoughts and it is like she never left,

like she’s just taking a short break from social media,

and will return when she has something great to say.

She says, “Come visit me at work.”

She says she doesn’t feel well.

She quotes love songs.

In the simplicity of her ideas,

and in the obvious avoidance to acknowledge her death,

she is so alive.

It has been too long now to believe that.

But what is time when your words are permanent?

What is it when you are still existing on screen?

Because I’ve gone to my own tweets,

and my mind forgets to switch back to that one-way thinking

of “everything is alive right now”,

and I sound already dead.

I read them like a friend who is in denial

immediately after passing,

convinced I am still alive because just a day ago,

I complained about doing homework.

I read them like I read hers.

Because she is so dead,

but she is still alive.

We all are, anyway.