Musings: Quarantine

Word Count: 251


Related works: N/A


A breath of fresh air.

An uncomfortable bar stool.

An empty house.

As I enjoy the walk in the warm spring sunshine, I think of all of the things that I have taken for granted. I think about how much I wish I could indulge in these things now, and, as fatalistic as it is, I wonder when, or if, I’ll enjoy them again.

Cordial smiles from strangers, replaced with sideways glances of mistrust from six feet away.

I can’t complain, I do it too. Instead of uttering, “Bless you,” I put another four feet between me and a flustered person who tries to make assurances that I know they cannot give.

The soft bed and slippery floors of my mother’s home.

The way my brother smells. Fresh laundry, a tinge of smoke, and love.

The absence of the buzzy, distant, vague feeling of anxiety, looming disaster.

The universal absence of that feeling.

What I don’t miss, I think as I approach my home, is hope. The warm, metaphorical rays of sunshine that reassure me that as long as life goes on, it can get better. I don’t miss it because it is still here.

But then I see it. The impossibly tiny hand of a small child, resting against their window. Yearning to feel the sunshine on their face, as I am. My eyes fall from the window to the lawn, where a princess-pink tricycle lays abandoned, but clearly not forgotten.

This is not okay, but hopefully, we will be.

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