They practiced patience like sharpening knives.
Conversations held weight, not width.
A voice traveled without a safety draft.
Apologies landed without emoji cushions.
They read rooms like weather predictions.
A silence could thunder or reassure.
Body language spoke louder than verbs.
Eyebrows raised entire paragraphs of meaning.
They knocked on doors, not just screens.
Summer evenings stretched into story circles.
Eye contact held a currency of trust.
Arguments unfolded over fences, not pixels.
Back then, connection required slower stitching.
The fabric of friendship wore every crease.
Lives were lived rippling through human echo.
A crowded room buzzed, a choir of lessons.
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Author:
gray0328 (
Offline) - Published: December 30th, 2025 08:54
- Comment from author about the poem: #4 in the series growing up in the 60's and 70's
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 2
Offline)
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