Almost a year of the waves crashing, drowning and scratching. Bruising and breaking. The saltwater bringing tears during unexpected moments and for seemingly no reason but unable to stop, until the waves break…
and they do
giving sweet release and gulps of air. The rays of the sun drying everything until the next wave comes.
Almost a year of watching the arms that once hugged you, fidget with the hope and desire that one day they will envelop you again. The awkward goodbyes of not touching during all too brief intervals between isolation. The distancing that doesn’t feel social.
Almost a year of not breathing as you walk a narrow path with a stranger approaching, neither with appropriate facial attire. A pained smile as you both face the prospect of being less than 6 feet apart and the audible exhalation from both of you as you finally pass.
Almost a year of watching a face reflected in the mirror that you no longer to recognise, hair greying, sparkle dimming. The motivation of making an effort is as fleeting as the prey who just spotted the predator.
Almost a year of absent, families and friends separated by a metaphorical wall, the small, locked door only opened when the key is thrown, with a list of restrictions that seem to make it harder to walk through the door in the first place, so it’s easier to lock the door of your own volition. Cementing the metaphorical bricks into place so that the temptation is no longer clear.
Almost a year.
Almost a year.