Somewhere between
“we care about your experience”
and
“we noticed you were thinking about shoes,”
the internet became a little too good
at knowing us.
.
It remembers
what we search at 2 a.m.,
what we almost buy,
what we secretly fear,
what we type…
and delete before sending.
.
Every click
leaves a fingerprint.
Every pause
becomes data.
Every silence
gets measured somehow.
.
And maybe that’s the creepiest part
not that machines are watching,
but that they watch so quietly
we forget they are there.
.
Phones glow softly beside our pillows
like loyal friends,
while somewhere far away
algorithms build tiny versions of us
from our habits and hesitation.
.
A digital ghost
wearing our face.
.
Privacy used to mean
a locked diary,
a closed door,
a whispered secret.
.
Now it means
hoping the microphone
wasn’t listening
when life fell apart at midnight.
.
Still,
humans remain strange creatures.
.
We trade pieces of ourselves
for convenience,
for faster delivery,
for curated songs,
for five seconds less loneliness.
.
And afterward
we wonder why ads
know our hearts
better than some people do.
.
Maybe the future won’t arrive
with flying cars or silver robots.
.
Maybe it already slipped quietly
into our homes,
our pockets,
our sleepless nights.
.
Not asking to be feared.
Not forcing its way inside.
.
Just waiting patiently
for one tired human
to press
“I Agree.”
.
.
—Rajeshwari 🧿💕
© Nihshabd by Rajeshwari. All Rights Reserved