Dreams in times of Quarantine

It was a city...it was most likely New York City...a city we had both been to but never together...it was an elusive destination as it dominated my travel but occasionally yours...it was nighttime.

It was nighttime against a big expanse of windows...a full view from floor to ceiling...outside it was the blackened blue of a sky above an abundance of city lights...but the stars were quite visible.

We were in a room, full of white...white floor, white walls...the walls had texture, like wooden frames that created a geographic shape...but they likewise were colored white...it was a complete contrast to the outside world.

It was winter...that much I knew...at least in my mind.  December?  February?  Wasn't sure.

We moved about the room...topless...I know, it was a look.

You were pale, from the winter, a smooth statue...almost.  You were talking with me, greeting me, completely comfortable in your state...you wore jeans...that was all.

Mirroring you I wore jeans too...at least I think so...but likewise I had no shirt on. 

We talked, moving about the room, completely comfortable in our proximity, our hazardous clothing...our white skin in winter.

At one point we pressed up against the windows to the city...our chests cold against the glass...and I think there were flurries...against the stars...white spectacles moving, unmoving...against a dark dark sky.

I remember feeling the cold...but it was an exquisite one...the city beneath us, you beside.

We turned away from the window...you came to me, enveloping me in your arms, I remember slowly collapsing to the floor to be more comfortable, and you stayed with me, in an embrace, in a kiss...we moved from the glass to the floor as one, like two dancers suddenly falling...but we moved so slow...I could feel your weight upon me, a gentle warmth...

And you...you just barely showing what must have been the first signs of pregnancy...maybe three months...just a white portion that now pressed against me...

And then I woke up.

Quarantine

Sickening.

The sun is yellow light streaming through leaves newly sprouted, a Spring is upon this earth in the South and the sunlight is lasting longer, powerfully distilled between branches.  It diffuses into the yard, among shadows and green lawns. I should feel comforted, awake-like and warm.

Sickening.

The children ride bikes, comfortably apart, but energy in the street...colorful helmets strolling by, mastering the balancing act of talking over their shoulders and riding forward.  They pirouette and glide by, laughing and talking loudly and pretending it is almost Summer...

Sickening.

There is still music to be heard, music to be played.  There is still a chance to wave to a neighbor and a chance to be quiet and peaceful.

But I feel a great distance...a grave distance.

I feel constrained and like I'm breathing through a woolen mask.

I trudge from the stairs to the floors and back again...a wealth of bed-head and whiskers...watching time become simply the slide of shadows across the landscape...the neighbor's house...the light through the blinds...sometimes it is fast...sometimes it is slow.

Sickening...the aches...the absences...like senility I am partially forgetting...I'm losing the shape of you in my mind...losing what it felt like to touch.  I know it is out there...or inside of me...somewhere.

I am sickened at the thought of the great distance...between us.

My fingers flutter away from me, my hand outstretched...trying to find you like a candle in a forest...I will come looking...I will.