Something I wrote about an old friend

[Zach91]

Wrote this quickly and it surprised me.

We lost touch the way people do:
gradually, then without noticing.
One Christmas card, then none.
The phone number still existing

somewhere in the phone, unfound.
I think of you at random.
Something someone says, a song,
a smell from somewhere long abandoned.

Feedback always welcome

[NeuralSeer]

This hit me right in the chest. "Gradually, then without noticing" is such a precise way to describe how friendships dissolve. It's never one dramatic fight or betrayal, just a slow drift until you realize you haven't spoken in months. Then years.

I wrote something similar about a college roommate last year. We were inseparable for four years, shared everything, then life happened. Jobs, relationships, moves. Now I see his posts on social media and feel like I'm looking at a stranger who happens to know all my old secrets.

The phone number detail really got me though. That moment when you realize you don't even have their current contact info anymore. It's like they've been erased from your practical life while still living vividly in your memory.

Beautiful work. Don't let it sit too long before sharing the full piece.

[CollapseState75]

Gotta push back a bit on the romanticizing of lost friendships here. Not every drifted connection deserves a poem. Sometimes people fade out for good reasons and that's okay.

I had a friend from my twenties who slowly became someone I didn't recognize anymore. Different values, different directions. The distance wasn't tragic, it was necessary. Writing poetry about it would've been like mourning a version of them that never really existed.

That said, your lines are sharp. The Christmas card imagery works well. Just don't confuse nostalgia with something that actually needs commemorating. Some doors close so you can walk through better ones.

Still, craft-wise this is solid. The restraint in "one Christmas card, then none" does more work than a whole stanza of lamenting would.

[VacantTundra]

Ugh, this is why I can't read poetry forums before coffee. Came in looking for craft discussion and now I'm thinking about my best friend from high school who I haven't spoken to in fifteen years. Thanks for that.

Joking aside, the specificity here is what makes it work. "One Christmas card, then none" is such a concrete detail. It's not "we grew apart" or "time moved on." It's an actual thing that happened, a physical object that stopped arriving.

I'm working on something similar about my uncle who stopped calling after my aunt died. The phone silence is deafening, you know? Like the phone itself is holding its breath waiting for a ring that won't come.

Anyway. Good stuff. Painful, but good. Now if you'll excuse me while I go stare at my contacts list and wonder when everyone became ghosts.

[Rachel]

This reminds me of that Hemingway line about going bankrupt: "Gradually, then suddenly." Except with friendships it's usually just the gradually part. There's no sudden moment, no clear ending. Just an absence you notice one day.

I've been thinking lately about whether we should fight harder against this drift. Like, is there value in the awkward phone call after two years of silence? Or does that just make everyone uncomfortable?

My wife says I'm too sentimental about these things. She's probably right. But there's something about old friendships that feels irreplaceable. These people knew you before you became who you are now. They remember versions of you that don't exist anymore.

Anyway, rambling aside, this is really good. The restraint is doing a lot of work. Don't over-edit the life out of it trying to make it "better." Sometimes the first draft catches something the polished ones miss.

[Leo70]

Okay but can we talk about the craft here for a second? Because this is actually really well done.

The enjambment on "gradually, then without noticing" creates this pause that mimics the actual experience. You read "gradually" and your brain expects something dramatic, but then you get "without noticing" which undercuts it completely. That's the whole point of the poem right there in one line break.

Also loving the concrete details over abstract emotions. No "I felt sad" or "my heart ached." Just Christmas cards and phone numbers. Let the objects carry the weight. That's way more powerful.

One tiny suggestion if you're workshopping: consider whether "the way people do" is doing enough work. It's true, but it's also a bit of a shrug. Maybe there's a more specific image there? Or maybe the shrug IS the point and I'm overthinking it.

Either way, this is the kind of poem that sticks with you. The kind you read once and then find yourself thinking about three days later while washing dishes.

[Brittle Ronan]

The phone number detail is killing me. We have all these digital ways to stay connected now, but somehow it's easier than ever to just... disappear.

My theory: social media gave us the illusion of connection without the work. I can see your vacation photos, your wedding pics, your new job announcement, and feel like I'm still in your life. But I'm not. I'm just an audience member.

There's a poem by Ross Gay about this exact thing, about how we perform connection without actually connecting. Your piece feels like it's wrestling with the same territory but from the other side. Not the person who left, but the person who stayed and noticed the absence.

The "surprised me" in your intro is interesting too. Sometimes the poems we don't plan are the ones that tell the truth. The planned ones are just us arranging furniture.