One year.
You know, it’s curious that the moment you have plenty of time to write, you lose your words.
Because any word seems banal, already said, inexperienced, deafening, absurd, surreal. Like this pandemic.
Pandemic.
I didn’t think I’d ever see one, lived one. Like many I felt in an era where pollution or digital would have been the enemies. The atomics. But a pandemic.
It looks like a movie and it’s not. And there is no end in sight. And you stay at home, you stay positive (no, I can’t do it much, let’s face it), clinging to the hope of common sense, of a cure, of an end. Of a new beginning.
And the words remain empty.
