They forbid us from ever speaking to each other again. They listen to our cell phones, read our email, and monitor the paths we travel through the city. We have to find other ways to communicate.
On Twitter you respond to questions from people who aren’t on your friends list. @longdist: I still feel the same and @wornheart: Yes, still have it, right next to my bed.
On Wikipedia, I edit entries for our favorite songs, inserting small sentences that appear to be about the histories of the songs, but are actually about our histories with the songs. The things I write are true and will not be deleted.
The websites I bookmark on del.icio.us show everyone else that I am getting over you, but the tags I use tell you that I am working on a plan.
Every morning you take a picture of your unmade bed and post it to Flickr. Restless nights draw sine waves in the sheets. I download the pictures, trace the lines and convert them to mp3s. Listening to my iPod I feel your breath against my neck.