I have none. It’s gone. My focus is fractured, like so many colors in a kaleidoscope but not with the same brilliance; no, my distraction is garish rather than enchanting. I flit from page to page, from app to app, barely able to hold a conversation without the urge to whip out my phone and swipe away. I cannot even write with single-minded purpose unless I am furious, and this topic simply brings with it a resigned despairing. Indeed as I compose this I cannot help but fly from fancy to fancy: in the midst of sentences, at the brink of understanding, at the slightest hint of effort. My virtual connection is killing me softly, without even the decency of a song.
The beauty of the universe awaits, and I am loathe to spend it silently trolling petty lives. Oh may I not lead a petty life myself.