It is quite simple. Remove words that once had meaning. Sincerity, honesty, communication, (I don't mean texting or tweeting). How many times do we see people sitting at the same table in a cafe or a Starbucks each on their smart phones. Neither talking to the person across from them.

Have we become so important that talking to one another face to face will soon be obsolete? Send the wrong emoji and you have hurt someone's feelings. Anyone of us during our lifetime will be very lucky if we have two close friends. Not, I'm sorry to say, the 9,321 who are on some list that want to see the salad you're eating at that moment. Or the new shoes. Those are not friends, most are not even acquaintances. They're strangers thirsting for some form of personal connection, but most are harvesting numbers in hopes of getting advertising dollars. It's almost like a perpetual Easter Egg hunt.

I'm sorry to rant, but the lack of social skills of society in the future will be a whole new world. Easily manipulated and yearning for something, but they won't know what. Imagine what it would be like if suddenly for two weeks there is no internet and no phone service. What would it be like? What would happen?           

"When I was a kid..."

(Cue: the eye roll)

"...I actually spoke to my friends face to face," my mother tells me.

Once again, I roll my eyes and turn back to my computer screen.

"You don't have any friends, Jazz."

"I have tons of friends!" I argue. "See that? It says '4k'. That's plenty of friends."

"Friends?! You've never talked or seen or even heard of nearly nine-tenths of these people!" she snaps. "I've had known how this would change you, your father and I would never have let you get Instagram or Facebook. Now all you do is sit with your face stuck in that laptop screen."

"That's where my friends are," I point out.

"That's what I mean," she responds, turning away with a sigh.

We used to meet. Ice cream, throwing at each other during fights. 

We used to see our emotions and know the sound of each other's voice when things went downwards. 

But now, dear best friend, I can't remember the sound of your voice when you're at the edge of crying as you're always hiding emotions before sending an audio message. 

Now I try to get your style of writing to know how you really feel. 

My childhood friend just texted me, "Why don't you have a Face Book? 

There are many reasons. I should have asked her, "Are you so shallow you have one?!"

but I didn't. 

Face Book doesn't keep me from Robin. It won't keep me from my kids or special folks.

The standard of friendship hasn't fallen. There are "friends" you don't want to insult that don't need to be rejected asking to get into your life.

So, carry on. Have fun. keep gossiping. 

It's just not me.

In developmental psychology

Circles, a widely held 

Belief is that the play

Toddlers exhibit is

That of play, side by 

Side, without interaction

Between the players.  This,

While typical in tots, produces

Vomitous sensations when

Exhibiting by my teenage

Daughter and her parallel play

Text partner/friend as they

Sit side by side (but not face to

Face) "enjoying each other's

Company".  Speak!!!  Dammit!!!

I see them all with their "perfect" lives.  Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat.  We don't speak in person any more.  We can't meet for coffee, or tea.  They "catch up" through comments, looking at my pictures.  I know what's going on... They just want the gossip.

I post the bad with the good.  When the depression sets in, my texts are unanswered.  I shout in to the void of fakebook.  Please, someone, I need help.  I get compliments, not connections.  I get platitudes, not peace.  "I had no idea!" "Let me know if I can help."  The words come and go into the abyss.  Written but not meant, for we never hang even then.

I hosted a slumber party. Four teenagers, staring at screens.  No giggles, no gossip, no laughs.  No fun.  What's the point? 

Two kids ran from her.

Glassy eyed and transparent,

Her body bore bruises

Of the apparent strangulation.

"Mommy! Mommy!"

She'd never hear those words again.

The sitter, sick and tired of her,

Calling her mother,

And her brother,

And her sister,

And her ex-lover.

"Someone's gonna get this baby."

Flashes of light fill her with guilt

As the sitter watches the dead body

Loaded into a black van,

CORONER, covered in a white sheet.

Husband's screams ring loudly.

His stepson starts crying.

His mother-in-law holds him

As her first born is carted for an autopsy.

Solemnly, they identify her,

Wrapped in each other's arms,

Gasping shallow breaths.

"That's her. That's Lorne."

Twenty-eight and fragile.

Medical examiner notes his findings.

Bruises on her face, ribs, legs.

No sexual assault, no fluids.

Blows to the head caved in the skull,

A fall possibly twisted the ankle,

A knife could've sliced the forearm.

His stomach churns as he prods

This is his job, his life.

His family was destroyed by this,

Yet his work was never done.

"Official C.O.D. is asphyxiation."

Investigators scramble to learn

She was doted on as a child

Though her mother left her father

And took her and her brother.

The move to Philly and the remarriage

Hit her like a bunch of bricks

But resiliently, she excelled in school,

Graduated with her masters in law,

Got pregnant and broken up with

Only to marry and have another child.

She was perfect in all ways,

"So who could want her dead?"

They opened her computer,

Greasy and hot from previous uses.

Scarcely dead twenty-four hours

And they were invading her privacy,

Ripping apart her accounts.

Twitter provided no leads

Since she only used it for politics.

Instagram, used for snooping,

Proved even less successful.

However, on Facebook

Hostility had boiled over.

"Who's Amanda Greene?"

Amanda Greene wore the title

Best friend, like a badge

Though the messages didn't reflect.

She's such a stupid whore.

How could she do that to *****?

Their kid deserves better.

She should rot for what she did.

Ugly words splatter the page.

Lorne's friend since fifth grade,

Who played at recess with her,

Who shared her juice boxes,

"She's the prime suspect?"

But the signs were there

Clearer than a bottle of Fiji.

The accusations,

The slander,

The messages.

The police car rolled out,

All eyes set on one target.

Coming out of the grocery store,

Ms. Greene was met with cuffs.

The bags were tossed aside.

As her car was ransacked, they heard,

"I didn't kill that heartless bitch!"

But there it was,

The rope suspected in her death.

Her son, sitting next to it,

Slept peacefully in his carseat.

Carrying him out,

They handed him to his father,

Lorne's ex-husband,

And realized the thick plot.

The love affair for many years,

The addiction and the rage,

The final straw came when,

"She said she still loved him."

Amanda, in her own words,

Lashed out by finding Lorne,

Punching, kicking, tying the rope.

The fear in her eyes as she realized

Her best friend, her oldest friend!

Et tu, Brute? Oui! Oui!

Amanda stoically told the tale

Older than time and history itself.

The tale of love strained

Under the weight of technology,

And then, even more stoically,

"And I'd do it again too."

There are so many people, who have come to be contented by what they take from the online world. Many people who feel it is keeping in touch by just messaging eachcother. We used to have our Mums get us together so we could hangout and play. But nowadays we are enabled to feel fulfilled by social media. For many it encourages antisocial behavior because people would rather just.. see it be done online than do it themselves. Its like many have lost the need for true friendship. Its enough for them to just see your vacation photos and give them a like. Some years ago they would've been developed at a store and to share them you'd have to get together.. or mail them. People get to live vicariously because of social media, its too easy to falsely experience anything. Its a temptation we all face, and many give in to.