We’re watching the slow, pitiful death of an art form right in front of us, and, of course, no one cares.
The art form in question? A classic “sorry, wrong person” text message. Gone are the days of “accidentally” messaging an ex to sneak back into their psyche. We’ve heard the final story of someone mistakenly sexting their parents when they meant to sext their lover. The world is empty of the drama produced by a shit-talk text accidentally sent to the person being shat on.
An unintended text faces no consequences anymore. You can unsend your messages on just about every platform now. Where is the serendipity in that? Where is the whimsy? Where is the joy???
Dispatches From The Front 