Good Friday

You sleep a long sleep, dreams winding in and out of each other, how simply permission to touch another human being can force its way into your subconscious wishes, we stood there a long time just holding onto each other and that was the whole dream. When I wake, sunlight streams in through the window and for a moment, everything feels possible. My lungs heave, they crackle and spit little embers into my outbreath, I know - I know - this is not good, we all read the news, but oh how the pain in my muscles overrides the fear. How an hour of steady paces underneath spring blooms erase dark clouds from my brow, and I am yet again invincible.

But the new world creeps in under your sealed doorway, under the protections you've set up for yourself, it reminds you that perhaps you'd like a chance at something new, that perhaps when the smoke has cleared, you do not want to be who you were before this whole thing swept in.

So here's your chance: the whole goddamn world is on pause, the whole goddamn world is holding its breath and giving you just the space and silence you've always been asking for through the rush of things. Here it is, here you are, this is as good as it's going to get.

Who do you intend to be,
when the system comes back online?