Christmas time is here, friends cannot draw near. We wear our masks, complete tasks, attempt our songs of cheer.
Having seen the monuments dedicated to those who sacrificed their lives, I wonder what it would be like, to see a monument to the dead of this virus. A monument to the survivors, many of whom still suffer.
When December calls...
These ruins sit unused, generations pass them by.
The cold permeateschilling my bones to their depth.It has been so long since I’ve felt warmth,or the feeling of my limbs.They are phantoms now,leftovers of another life,when I felt control and pain.I stumble along,unable to feel the bruisesI’ve accumulated along the way.I bump against a door,not realizing I’ve crashed it wide,blown it open so the … Continue reading enter
Leaves fall. Each one starts, a gentle cascade to the earth, carried by the breeze.
It is a swirling storm that reigns my thoughts.
I would normally bake two dozen butter tarts, because you loved them.
They say: Don’t judge your beginning or middle, against someone’s end.
These are silent times.
He said his day’s been… rough. I know what he means.
I watched her disarm a bomb.
Angry words spoken,
with fingers in personal space.
Days grow darker.
It’s hard to get up.
“I’m a mistaker,” he says, stopping me cold in my steps, all my attention on that small sentence.
It finally arrived