So I’ve been living the isolation life for almost a week now, experiencing the strange mental state that some have called plague mindset. The easiest way to summarize the feeling is the innate sense that something is very wrong. So very wrong, in fact, that you feel an urge to act…except that the best thing you can do is nothing. Nothing at all.

It’s a paradox of panic and tedium. Anxiety and boredom. DO SOMETHING and do nothing.

All of this is to say that I’ve had a lot of time to think and to try to write. (I say “try” because it’s a little more difficult to get into the appropriate creative mindset during a pandemic.) As I wrote poetry last night, I put together some words of hope and shared them with my wife. She thought it would be a good idea to share them with you.

Afterward

We all breathe
and wait
and listen,
pining for the normalcy
we always dreaded;
the burgers we’d grown used to,
the sights that had grown old.
And though all this is terrible,
though considering it in full
reaves my soul,
I can’t help but think
of that moment
when this dismal pall rises,
and we return to the world
we’ve left behind.

That world will be different.
The old will not
have grown new,
but it will have become beloved.
The small gifts and
pleasures of the city
and the country
will be received
anew.
Every smile will be welcome
and well-earned.

And, perhaps
for the first time in many years,
we will all remember
the childlike joy of
stepping through the front door and
feeling the world unfold around us,
decked with trappings of
sun and summer, and
in that moment,
we’ll begin to heal.
To live,
truly live,
again.

Feel free to come say “Hi” on Twitter using @Dreamertide. The sun will rise, my friends. In the meantime, let’s get through the night, together.