Rereading Text Messages Quotes

Emergency? Knighthawk sent. I’m just bored. I blinked, holding my phone and rereading that text. Bored? I sent. You’re literally spying on the entire world, Knighthawk. You can read anyone’s mail, listen to anyone’s phone calls. First, it’s not the whole world, he wrote. Only large chunks of North and Central America. Second, do you have any idea how mind-numbingly DULL most people are? I started a reply, but a flurry of messages came at me, interrupting what I was going to say. Oh! Knighthawk wrote. Look at this pretty flower! Hey. I want to know if you like me, but I can’t say that, so here’s an awkward flirtation instead. Where are you? I’m here. Where? Here. There? No, here. Oh. Look at my kid. Look at my dog. Look at me. Look at me holding my kid and dog. Hey, everyone. I took a huge koala this morning. Barf. The world is ruled by deific beings who can do stuff like melt buildings into puddles of acid, and all people can think of to do with their phones is take pictures of their pets and try to figure out how to get laid.

I picked up my phone from my nightstand, skin prickling all over with hurt, eyes stinging a little too brightly at the words he’d written down on the paper…until I saw the text message waiting for my on the screen. At some point, Sully had changed his name in my contacts from ‘Hottest Guy In The World’ to ‘Lamest Guy In The World’. The lone message he’d sent to me contained few words, but they hit hard. Sully: Don’t do it, Lang. Don’t go. I sat up in bed, staring at the note, re-reading it over and over again, knowing now what he was really telling me. He did love. He would miss me. He didn’t want me to go.

I just blew my art teacher and he apsolutely loved it! He gave me extra credit and everything:) Glennis:  That’s nice sweetie :) I remember having to do that when I was in college too. You make me proud! Xx Arnulfo:  Um… I just re-read my text. I meant drew but my phone changed it. What. The Hell?!? Glennis:  Oh uh… That’s what I thought you meant. Don’t tell your dad about this, okay? Xx

Despite the march of digital technologies, it is hard to believe that paper will completely disappear as a means of communication. For some messages we trust it above all other media. There is nothing that quite grips the stomach while simultaneously making your heart skip than a letter from your beloved arriving by post. Phone calls are fine and intimate, text messages and e-mails are instantaneous and gratifying, but to hold in your hands the very material that your beloved touched and to breathe in their sweetness from the paper is truly the stuff of love. It is a communication of more than words. There is a permanence, a physical solidity to soothe those of an insecure nature. It can be read and reread over and over again. It physically takes up space in your life. The paper itself becomes a simulacrum of the loved one’s skin, it smells of their scent, and their writing is as much an expression of their unique nature as a fingerprint. A love letter is not faked, and is not cut and pasted. What is it about paper that allows words to be expressed that might otherwise be kept secret? They are written in a private moment, and as such, paper lends itself to sensual love—the act of writing being one fundamentally of touch, of flow, of flourish, of sweet asides and little sketches, an individuality that is free from the mechanics of the keyboard. The ink becomes a kind of blood that demands honesty and expression, it pours on to the page, allowing thoughts to flow. Letters make splitting up harder too, since like photographs they echo forever on the page. For one whose heart is broken this is a cruelty, and for those who have moved on it is a stinging rebuke of infidelity or, at the very least, a thorn of inconstancy in the side of their constructed personality. Paper, though, as a carbon-based material, has a bright solution for those wanting to be released from such torture: a match.

Xander: Remember when you promised you’d never leave me? My fingers tremble as I read and re-read the message. Before I can fathom a reply, another text comes. Xander: I free you of that promise.