When it comes to staying in touch with people, I am just the worst. Seriously and honestly, just bad.

You would think with all this social networking stuff that it would get easier, but I present to you the problem of the age: Most of the time, I never end up speaking to who I intended to contact, because I get so wrapped up in the hundreds of others throwing crap I’m not necessarily sure I needed to know in my face.

Lately I have pulled away a great deal. I’m not on Facebook much anymore. I spend most of my time on Ello, WordPress, and Instagram. Places where visual and poetic prose are the key elements of your content, and where sharing ideas and beauty is as natural as breathing. I enjoy these social media communities, they have opened my world up. I have seen things I would never want to forget. I have learned things and found common ground with complete strangers. That is much of the problem. I have found comfort in such strangeness that I have neglected the reasons I began social networking in the first place: To keep in touch with my friends.

Yet, I find a great satisfaction in those strangers I hear from, including many of you. I love the anonymousness I can keep. I love being able to withhold information. To have my secrets. But more importantly, I enjoy the idea of the clean slate. To most of you, I just showed up, and can write my history unashamed from the ground up with you because what loss is it to me if you know? What loss is it to you if you find out? We could learn a thing or two about each other in the kind of way that an avid reader finds a new book, or an artist creates a work…with little to no idea of what is in store. There is a kind of beauty in the blind trust of blogging. We all go about revealing pieces of our inner most selves to each other. Trusting that what we reveal is in safe hands, trusting those hands to share as they see fit, and still trusting those who entrust themselves to us to be telling the truth.

But perhaps this is all a problem on one level or another? Perhaps there are silent poems in the minds of those who have read the work of another and found unrequited love in those words? Perhaps there is a family being torn apart by the raw and unfiltered emotions someone shares through a screen? Perhaps there are liars? Perhaps there are people to tell painful truths that are not theirs to tell? Perhaps there are stolen words? Perhaps there are friends neglected?

To be honest, if I went through my friends list of Facebook and deleted anyone who I wasn’t super interested in getting to know, and knowing anymore…I would have a friend list of only two digits I assure you.


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