biutiful

Last night we went out.
Like girls do.
We chatted form the very first minute to the very last.
Like girls do.
We talked boys, friends and love.
Like girls do.
We chin chinned unexplainable unreasonable expensive rose and other menthol drinks.
We hadn't done this in a while. A great while. It's not like we didn't try. We did. Technological tries.
But it's nothing like the simple chin chin of the glass, the too many words coming out of one's mouth about one's issues, misfortunes and fortunes (because it's all about us when we talk, an individual us which impatiently awaits for its turn to speak up and out) and the chatty chat of the couple of four.
It wasn't about what technology does to a relationship. It was more about what technology doesn't do to a relationship. It doesn't do pork's laughter or snoring laughter, more accurately. It doesn't do te-am citit dintr-o privire  and it doesn't do real hugs.
It doesn't do emotions. Not like these ones.
Like girls need.