I sleep a deep sleep, ignorant of the machinations on the outside. When I wake, my phone is a wasp's nest of terror; before my mind has even righted itself, it spins dark tales and confusion. I try to work but spend most of the time staring into a wall. My phone continues to buzz with mostly the same, anger and confusion, inability to put one foot in front of the other. A limbo that pulls and stretches and abandons us all at once. He bikes into the city to give you a hug despite your symptoms; you sink into his shoulder and wonder when the last time was another human touched you. The year has been cruel beyond belief. A few medical professionals poke and prod you and say probably no need to worry, but you feel like that's what the democracy told you too and yet here we are beside ourselves with fear. Across the water, your home country shuts itself down too, like a clam retreating from the treacherous waters beyond.
The year has been cruel beyond belief.
But I sat in Washington Square Park today, warm November sunshine on my face, dear friends at my side, New York like a perpetual beacon of hope all around, and for a short moment everything was not on fire, everything was not violently turning to ash at our feet and if there is one thing this year has taught me it is to appreciate that moment more than I ever knew I could.
We're not out of the woods yet. We are as deep in them as ever. But they are only woods. If we keep walking, eventually we are bound to reach a clearing.
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