It's been an hour.

My thumb is still taunting me over that ******* "H".

My thumb's been broken before. "Hey, what's going on?" It took me a half hour of staring and second guessing before my thumb found and pressed send. Your thumbs were more agile than mine.
How many times since have my fingertips found those keys so easily with you since then.

It's an odd malady, to have once been able to glide across the keyboard, my thumb knew stories. My thumb knew jokes.  

All it seems to know anymore is one worthless phrase.  I've worn out the letters, and it's welcome on your phone. Still it's all my thumb wants to type.

I'm sorry