Every now and then,
my phone reminds me:
deleted items leave residue.
And I keep wondering
about all the things we delete:
the photographs,
the messages,
the names we stop searching for,
what they leave behind,
if anything.
Or whether deletion
is just another word
for moving something
somewhere we can no longer see.
Because the strange thing
about erasing something
is that the space it occupied
doesn't disappear with it.
It stays there,
quietly remembering
what used to be.
And I wonder
about all the things
we've deleted from our lives:
did they ever really leave,
or did we simply become
too good at pretending
we couldn't find them?
What technology couldn't, how could biology ever?
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