This quarantine isn’t going to go well.
Words as useful as they maybe don’t make up for harsh reality. In the willing mind, words of comfort soothe the anxiety. In the unwilling mind it is the noise of an asshole, filling the air with bullshit and gas. My daughter is depressed the loss of future hope and joy has been squashed. She is a social butterfly pinned in a glass box unable to breathe-move-be but she can see. She can see the imagined memories of future past. She can see through a little window of the outside world. She can see her dreams of memories to be had, stolen by the ghost of Christmas future. She is not like me. I live on the inside first. I am self sufficient. I could be a desert monk alone until I die of starvation. She is not like me. She is a pirate. She goes port to port making friends and gaining new companions along the way. She hungers over a new adventure and longs for the open sea.
This quarantine is going to break my cold heart.
End note: I wrote this on my phone for Facebook. But I thought why not give it also to you my dear readers.