I see the ones
who don't see anyone.
Their skin is as fragile as the pages in an old book
and they look at me with eyes that have read it all,
seen it all
and are still scared.
I know their loved ones;
the worried fingers
that lace and unlace
as they stare a hole in the space between their shoes,
unused to the barriers,
fighting every instinct just to keep dear ones safe.
When I grace their bedside,
adjust the pillows behind their heads, I think;
every touch is their touch -
the ones that can't be close -
reaching through closed doors.
Every look is their look.
Every word of comfort are words those loved ones would say.
I hope they know,
and I pray they are
no longer alone.