I do not write, and they will not write to me either.
And then it is not worth
Complaining of loneliness.
From being locked in they remain alone,
Of missed days
They realize the irreversibility.

All around it boils with enemies and friends,
Relationships add vigor,
They do not let one sit still in a hermit’s stripe,
There is much use from them.

And they bring harm —
Too many unfriends,
Especially among those whom, as a reward,
I try to seek as comrades.