by Devin Coldewey
Lastly, the device has no voice of its own. Unlike a room, or a car, or a pair of jeans, or, of course, a person, your phone does not collect stories and tell them to you when you see it. That is to say, you have memories with your phone, but not of it. Because it doesn’t stay with you for long, and because its job is to be a facilitator, never its own end, it will never be anything but an accessory to memory, never the memory itself. A slab of glass: flawless, because featureless. Who could love such a thing?