Insta and I celebrated our tenth anniversary a few weeks ago. Ten whole years. Now, I know I’ve said it before, but hear me out. I think it’s over this time. Enough is enough.
I can’t deny that it’s hard. For nearly half of my life, we’ve been inseparable. In fact, it’s hard to remember a time Insta hasn’t been there.
Over the last few years, we were the type of couple that toed the line between starry-eyed perfection and nebulous white dwarf destruction. Convex and concave, focused and oblivious, everything and nothing. All at once.
But when we were young, like anything, it started out simple. Mostly naïve nothings. Everything rose-colored, but clear as black and white. We weren’t obsessed, but we were always frantically excited to see each other every day.
And how couldn’t we both be excited? Insta opened up new worlds all the time! Insta introduced me to new friends and new places every day. Every hour. Every minute. Every second. Every thing.
In the blink of an eye, five years passed. We were always looking ahead, carefully cropping our next move. Suddenly, money mattered. Things were structured, calculated, retouched. Schedules were re-scheduled. We looked before we listened.
And that’s when my doubts began to seep in…Is this real? Could I live without Insta? Why shouldn’t I be with Insta? Why do I feel like I need space? Could our relationship be hurting others?
And then, year seven hit. I found out Insta was…well, it’s hard to say.
Somehow, Insta had influenced an election, contributed to elevated teen suicide rates, listened in on private conversations, and re-calibrated serotonin emissions. Insta was also pushing lies to millions, who believed every word.
I was stunned, but stayed. I defended Insta. I knew Insta better. Sometimes, I think I still know Insta better.
But as time goes on, I can’t help feeling more and more. Those nebulous white dwarf destruction tendencies are here again. Precipice of a black hole stuff. When I move, I sink deeper. I push away, but circle back, stuck in a whirlpool of time.
And maybe that’s the trouble with this black hole relationship. Outside the black hole, time stops, and you’re alone in your own time. You have no choice but to feel and exist in what surrounds.
But inside, with a peek past the horizon, time replaces space, and the invisible possibility of something new excites. And the fact that nobody knows what the hell any of that really means makes that curiosity irresistible.
Knowing myself, I’ll probably peek over the horizon again soon. But, for now, enough is enough. I need to exist in my own time…for now.