I am the goddess of the Sticky Note.
I long thrived on all of the words humanity would generously pour into me. I feasted on their cursive, their block letters, their chicken scratch. Penmanship came in many flavors – each one a fresh treat, each one an act of devotion. Each message as unique as the human hand that scrawled it in their haste.
People never seemed to feel that they had enough time. But I had all of time to enjoy their scribblings.
Messages to themselves. Messages to each other. Messages meant for the void. So many fleeting moments I enjoyed along with my loyal followers – soaking in their ink and their graphite and their adorably-named permanent markers.
Then the laptops came. The cellphones. The tablets.
My source of worship dried up. Why bother with paper? Digital would not crumple. It would not be destroyed in the wash, forgotten in some back pocket. It would not end up at the bottom of some messenger bag, smeared and torn.
One by one I lost them. Oh, the