Quarantine Thoughts

The rain is coming down, and I wonder to myself, am I lonely? How strange.

Of all the things I took for granted, proximity was certainly the greatest.

And I miss them most with sleep; when it comes, when it leaves. Between falling and waking, I rest.

Modern loneliness, it has me cornered.

I’m not a scientist. I know nothing of space and time and their complex interrelations. But I know how a day feels, when it’s repeated over and over. My feet draw circles through the same rooms, searching for novelty.

What a privilege it was, to occupy so many spaces. To travel the world in a single day. And how beautiful it was, to love up close––and not from afar.

My birthday comes and I am asked about desires. Bodies, I want to say, voices. The limitations people bring. How strange.

Modern loneliness, it has the introverts on their knees.

Several weeks ago, a friend wrote me this:

A virus, something that is almost nothing, makes almost nothing out of all that was once something. And, as I sit here in my house, I wonder how it would feel to hold someone. To feel something in the face of nothing.

I don’t know if he was talking about me, he probably wasn’t.

But I miss the way my body feels in someone else’s arms.

After all, screens are cold and their light always gives way to darkness.

In the space between hours, I collect my pieces. I’m trying to build something—worthwhile.

I imagine a new world, one that isn’t so afraid. And I imagine how I might live better within it. Breathing in brighter colors.

With these walls buffering around me, I continue looking:

For a hundred tiny windows,

A hundred tiny views.

But even in quarantine, I still count the days with birth control pills. Taking pride in those punched-out holes.

I still fall asleep with hope between my fingers. Waking up is the worst part, hungover from last night’s daydreams.

I still cry, perhaps more alone than I’ve ever been before.

And I still find peace in the silence that follows.