You learn not to see them, or to see them, depending on your taste and needs and level of curiosity. I see rows of them right now – four horizontal ones and at least as many vertical ones stitching their way between me and the trees, and the birds, and the two women with their infant children: sisters? friends? spouses? I’ll never know.
I sit across the table from you, removed from contact by your interaction with the screen on your phone. I lie on the other side of the bed from you, removed from intimacy by divergent dreams. I can see you but not hear you. Or, I can hear you but not see you. Or, I can see and hear and even touch you, but not know you.
Illusions of solutions curl and slither across invisible lines, offering answers to questions nobody asked.