The vegan mint chip is gone. It may have been the one thing keeping me together. On the other side of my wall a neighbor coughs deeply. Fear has paralyzed us all into isolation. Life seemed so simple back in December, merely months ago. Our first kiss in a doorway on Rivington left me floating. Fate found us on the M train, two separate cars, going over the same bridge at the same time. I was on the wrong train, but as we stumbled onto the platform at Marcy and saw each other we laughed. I was on the very right train. You invited me back to your place for a wee whisky. I obliged, curious to see into your world. And here we are. Fragile world, fragile hearts. Jobs lost. Apart inside our own walls, vulnerable. Before isolation fully formed its grip I hopped on the G, with caution, to your place. You hugged me hard and felt my heart pounding so loud it was startling. Who will be lost? I sat in silence as your son explored the room with wonder, following lines with his hands in the darkness, his head leaning in to see with his being. Pause. A knock. Plastic or metal? Knock knock. Wood? The innocence lulled me back to center. I long to be back in that room again, a rectangle, not a rhombus. I sit here in my place, the steam heat rattling as breath catches, afraid to move. Bracing as the numbers swell. Who will remain? Who will we be when we cross to the other side?
