instagram must know we used to be lovers, because your stories are still the first i see. you hardly posted while we dated, so the algorithm must have snooped through my phone. scanned through our novelistic texts. detected the preponderance of kissy face emojis and “baby”s. faces suddenly jumping out of my photos, a shrine to food till you. your incandescent smile lighting up my screen. our heartbreakingly earnest song exchanges, like we were still in high school. the interborough trail of shared locations, your overnight visits. lives wholeheartedly shared, however fleetingly.
and when the flow of texts was dammed. the app must have seen my abuse of spotify’s “life sucks” playlist. my uptick in likes for “it gets better” posts. the angsty poems written in my notes, desperate searches for tropical getaways. the lack of hinge activity since. all this damning enough to override the fact that our thread has lain dormant for months. silent witness to our sojourn, instagram must think parading your life before me is the best way to seize my attention. it knows me better than i care to admit.