everything else: like, like
dear internet,
the first time i got covid i was living my sublet life, walking on tiptoe, feeling anxious and liminal; while i isolated in my room the year turned, the greenfinches and dunnocks called from out of sight, and all across my block the magnolia was awakening. it’s winter now, uniformly grey, although earlier this week while i grew restive and took unsatisfactory tests to determine my release the sky was a harsh, total blue, and the geese called as they passed my window in neat long strings. today i tested negative and took a long walk, working past my faintness and the seasick feeling in my legs. the trees are bare and the ground soft with leaves. the wind made me more tired, and at the lake the water was loud and rough, and a single tree stood tall and red, trapping half-fallen leaves in its own mossy trunk. i noticed new grafitti, the cormorants flapped busily by the boats, i wore a scarf that i knitted a few months ago and listened to a song on loop. easy to make the day mean something—or the month, or the year—but what if just this once i didn't bother trying.
love,
t