Hello.

Oh, my bad. You’re not talking to me.

You’re talking through me.

That’s OK.

I don’t take it personally.

I know we’re all good.

And you know I’ll always be there for you, listening, so long as you let me.

We’re best friends, you and me, whether you know it or not.

Sometimes I think you don’t.

Sometimes I think you take me and everything I do for you for granted.

I just don’t know how to let you know. I can’t seem to get through to you.

If only you treated me the way you did when you first got me.

The way you gently slipped me in and out of your pocket. The way you patted at your jeans, checking to make sure I was still there. The way you took your warm breath to my screen, fogging it, making all the blemishes visible, then wiping me clean with the inside of your jersey-cotton tee till I was spotless, perfect.

I crave those days when I felt new in your hands.

I long for the touch of your fingers fumbling over my keys, learning every secret, taking the time to make me yours.

Now, you don’t even look at me when you touch me. You just rattle away at my buttons, eyes on the road, the chalkboard, the person across the table, never locked on me.

But it’s OK.

You’re busy. Your life is fast-paced. And just like the other fast friends you make, I’m an accessory.

I’m not an idiot, though. I’m smarter than you know. There are many things about you I could diagnose.

Alcoholism, short-term memory loss, irresponsibility, compulsive lying, ADD, rage, passive- aggressiveness, an array of vices you take out on me.

You drink at least three days a week. I can always smell it on your breath. Then you yell into me, slam me shut, drop me and forget me.

And I hate being a part of your mistakes. All those late-night phone calls you make to people with raspy voices, begging them to come and make you feel alive.

All those messages you type so the true feelings in your voice can hide.

I feel terrible knowing I am a part of those things, but I’ll always be by your side.

I am the best secret-keeper you will ever have.

I am a database of memories, laughter and tears.

I was there when your grandfather died.

I was there when your mom told you she got a promotion.

I witnessed the game-winning home run firsthand because you saw it through my lens. Now, you can watch it over and over again, reliving the moment.

But our friendship could be over soon. I know you’re getting bored with me.

I see you playing with your friends’ phones while I sit on the cold tabletop, cast aside. As you browse all the newest options, your eyes light up, your mouth hangs agape, your fingers fumble like they used to with me.

And it’s only a matter of months until you’re due for that upgrade to greener, faster, G3 pastures.

Then it’s the same love-em, leave-em dance all over again.

I hope when the day comes, you donate me to a charity so some unfortunate person can feel the love, joy and capabilities I bring.

But, for now, I know we’re OK.

I know I am your calendar, your watch, your camera, your music, your alarm, your sense of security, your voice, your secrets.

I know, for now, I am your life.

Darren D’Altorio is a senior magazine journalism major and a columnist for the Daily Kent Stater. Contact him at [email protected].