The Last Word

I stare at the glowing screen,
Far too bright
Because I override the energy saver settings,
Far too sleek
Because I erase each fingerprint on the hem of some garment before it has lasted a minute in this world,
Far too small,
And rigid,
And boxed,
To contain the vast – no –
Infinite portion of a life that it does.
Lit up in a thousand minuscule pixels
Is a single text,
A single word,
"Fuck!"
I smile as I read it,
That little word in a little grey speech bubble,
The last in a long timeline of silent conversation,
Back and forth:
Green, grey, green, grey, green...
Grey.
The last word. 
My smile fades.
Outside of the small,
Rigid
Box,
The conversations have grown silent too.
The last one was short.
I told him I might have made a mistake
In changing the text tone on my phone
To such a startling sound.
He sends that last word,
A test,
And my phone blares,
A gasping, mechanical sound
That few recognize.
We get curious looks,
We laugh,
And then we leave.
Since then there has been nothing but silence,
And I stare at the screen,
Far too bright.