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  • Alyssa Harms-Wiebe

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This is an abstract piece of writing.

I’m telling you that so that you can adequately prepare to read it.

I am stuck in a room on a sunny day. There is nothing keeping me from walking outside. No armed guard. No police force. No threatening neighbour.

And yet.

I am left to explore my brain. Soundtracks of better days come swirling around my chest proving to me that in another lifetime I could be a planet. I wish I were on another planet right now. A planet where friends meet in parks, dancing happens on Friday nights, and the call of summer brings people into the streets, migrating like flocks of birds after an isolated winter.

And yet.

The spring equinox passed last weekend and we chose our living rooms as halls of celebration. We forced our eyes to stare at screens. We scrolled and scrolled and scrolled. We watched flowers bloom through windowpanes while we withered.

Time proved to be a concept. After all. Hours became days became weeks or minutes. Weekends became mornings and mornings became evenings. There was a lack of distance between actions, but an unfathomable distance between ourselves and regularity. We became isolated. Isotopes of our usual elements.

There comes a time when as a human you have to be able to categorize what you’re experiencing so that you can move on to the next item. Titles become necessary and boxes for storing such titles.

And yet, here we are. Without job titles and without a box to stuff our feelings into. We lay exposed, in the living rooms of our houses, to be met with grace from those with whom we choose to quarantine.




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