Friends

Last night I was chatting with some girl from Tehran and she asked me if I have many friends. I had to think about it, and sadly the answer is no. There are many many people who are good friends to me, and very few to whom I am a good friend.

This is sad because if I’ve discovered even unconsciously that it’s easier to make friends than to keep friends, what kind of monster have I become?

I detest the «disposable» ethic that seems to permeate our culture. To think I do the same thing with human lives–particularly the lives of those who love me–is more disturbing than I care to admit