How much do we really know about each other?
I know the airbrushed version of what you did last Saturday. You were wearing a sweater I never saw you in before and your hair was free. You smiled that smile you smile whenever anyone is taking your photograph. It’s a mixture of slight vacancy mixed with the knowledge that you know far more than the person clicking you into the LIKEmosphere. You were at a bar/overpriced restaurant/in a field of terrified poppies/camping/singing/dancing.
I haven’t heard the sound of your voice in many months, so I can’t verify if it has changed. I only know what you still look like, your diet (you seem to enjoy memorializing your lunch these days), who makes you #grateful, and that you recently got bangs.
I don’t know if this weather shift has caused your nose to leak or if you cry more because of the political climate. I have no idea what book you are reading and if you read anything recently that made you feel more alive.
And you don’t know that I have gained some weight and have a difficult time with zippers. You have no idea that I am terrified to leave my apartment most days. You don’t know about the cancer scare, how often I think about collecting pills beneath my tongue. You don’t know about the night police officers knocked down my door or that I have a mouth full of cavities now. You don’t know that I am researching countries to move to. You have no idea that I’ve already left.
How much do we really know about each other?
Aimee Herman 