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Friendship. A state not lightly entered into. Might as well be considered matrimony. Gone seem the days of those you can wholly trust. Some new friends exact a price in emails and the book and think they're just- ified in their feelings. Some play, not so nice. Social media's got real dice and you take a chance with the less tightly-wrapped. Less familiar with manners than smack. Cellphones are mere scanners and instruments of malicious exaggeration of facts. Unschooled in kindergarten, friends might be more up on the slang, the slap of turn-coats. Possess all the loyalty of feral Tom cats. Though the manners of a cat fare far better. Yes. Sometimes I long for the days of the letter. Or the land telephone. Making sure the messages reached homes. And people were more like people. Instead of this "I Annonymouse cra*." Thinking we're clever whenever we give the coldest shoulder but lack the courage to deliver it personally. Copyright February 13, 2012. All Rights are RESERVED by this Author. Melissa A Howells Meloo/Tilt-a-World Vote for this poem
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