Why would I read Facebook?

Why would I read Facebook? 

I just found myself stretching for the bookmark for fb, as though an incompleteness was threatened.

I read / looked last night, - rooked / lead - and it was nothing, just tiny pre-toxic precursors of not much. Slowly switching off the connecting channels, single vectors. One way street.

A couple of things : 

I lived for 3 years 9 months next door to an anechoic chamber. It was represented in this dimension by a young couple who operated in carmelite silence. Avoidant and avoiding. Barely able to speak, no eye contact, soundless. He stopped his bass playing, she stopped working and became invisible. The purdah of the suburbs.
He played on his phone in the sun after work, briefly. She came outside one Saturday morning wrapped in a curtain. 

At xmas, I saw her being cajoled by her parents; she sulked and folded her arms.

Then they got married, just the parents. He played the ukelele quietly. They announced via an estate agent's board that they were leaving.

They filled their bin to the point of immobility with crockery, utensils. They moved by the smallest truck. The house was a riot of magnolia. He said "she needs to be near her mother". An unsurprising lack of goodbye.

The other thing :

A young woman walked towards her car pushing a mountain bike. She took off the wheels and stowed it on top of another bike inside a Fiat 500. She grinned and shook my hand.