But she never deleted it, either.
It remembered every click, every like, every three-second pause on an ex’s wedding album. It learned the weight of her thumb on the mouse button. It learned that she always clicked faster when she was lonely, and slower when she was drunk.
She stopped clicking it.
The Facebook icon was the smallest thing on her screen, yet it contained the largest thing in her life: the sum of everyone she had ever pretended to know.
She closed the laptop lid.
And the ‘f’ is still leaning. Just a little. Like a head cocked to one side, listening to the silence of a user who finally logged off.
One Tuesday, she noticed something wrong. facebook icon for desktop shortcut
Forever.