dear internet,

i've spent the last month or so standing in my balcony to look at the birds, but now i catch myself looking beyond, into the glass-doored fancy apartment building across the street. two days ago there was a little girl there, facing the outdoors, pirouetting with determined joy. yesterday a woman, maybe the girl's mother, standing in her balcony with the same vacant, slack expression i know i had on my face, popping some snack into her mouth, i think perhaps almonds. one floor down from them a man has mopped his house twice today. two floors down from them is the street, where a man in a mask walks my beloved, foolish beagle friend, who tangles himself in his leash as he tries to befriend the world.

my next-door neighbour takes her work calls in her balcony, always after dark, and by some acoustic trick her voice sounds like it's coming directly from my bedroom. their kids, usually noisy, are quiet; i wonder if they're staying somewhere else. and i'm here in my house. i'm trying to cook, but twice i've had popcorn for dinner. i'm trying to stay calm, but i take my temperature too much, i stand in my balcony inhaling pollen and then worry when my sinuses hurt, i scroll newsfeeds until my fingers cramp. two days ago i rollerbladed in the empty apartment unit next door. some days i can concentrate on my work, and other days i drink too much coffee and lie on my floor. i've been sleeping, inexplicably, better than i have in years.

yesterday all day the weather was oppressive until finally it rained, a swirling, windy rain that smelled of dust. afterwards i went for a walk and the streets were empty except for leaves and flowers that crunched underfoot. on the corner of my street, a man standing, mask around his neck, smoking a cigarette.

love,
t