Up and down aisles of glass,
never looking more fragile,
I wandered until I found you:
Faithful old friends,
new comrades,
some along to see how they meshed.

A few for comfort on bad nights,
or to liven up good nights,
and some just because Quarantine.
I promised you we’d both see the end of this.
In weeks or months.

I brought you back in heavy bags,
set up a place where the kids wouldn’t bother you
We started hanging out almost every night
(once the kids were in bed).
The news got worse,
the streets emptied out,
the numbers got uglier,
routines crumbled,
tempers flared,
but you were there for me.

But as things darkened further yet,
and Quarantine just became life,
I watched you dwindle away,
losing weight and color,
until a few of you vanished entirely.

Had I been relying on you too much?
You wouldn’t confirm it
(always so stoic).

But neither would you deny it.
Because, after all, you’ve never lied to me.

I gave you more space; checking in once or twice a week.
We don’t hang out alone as much as we used to, but you seem fine with it.
You have your faults, but you’re not needy.

I promised you we’d both see the end of this.
Even if we don’t see each other much, until the end.