Friends

A metaphor, a thought—

Friends drift through my mind like film stills,

fading at the edges.

Once, we spoke for hours,

voices looping through the night,

the silence between words soft and full.

Now, in this conveyor-belt world,

everything moves too fast—

moments packaged, sent, forgotten.

A call feels like intrusion.

Please text.

Ink and paper—artifacts of another era.

Messages blur,

meanings bend,

and what you meant to say never lands quite right.

In a blink, it’s over—

the message, the moment, the memory.

And you find yourself wishing

for just a little more time,

a little more of them.