It’s easy to fool yourself into thinking
that your old friends are like chess pieces,
that you can walk away from a game
and they will stay precisely where you left them,
ready for you to pick back up again
whenever the mood takes you,
but in truth they are like driftwood,
most will get swept out to sea on tides
whose strength you can only guess at,
others will bob on the periphery of your vision,
periodically making their way back to you
only to be swept out again,
but…
