The friends I knew slowly became faces on screens. Filtered photographs. Smiles you do not recognize. Captions written as if the soul had run them past an accountant before posting them. Some put on ties and began speaking about opportunities, investments, prospects. Some ended up in prison and came out different, or never really came out at all even though they walk outside. Some married their comfort and named it peace. Some moved to other cities and learned to speak as if the language in which we once cursed together at dawn had never existed. Some got lost in substances, in bad shifts, in beds that did not want them, in houses that tolerated them until they went dim. Some are still alive, but only biologically. And that may be the worst kind of disappearance.