COVID cracked my life open

It stole the air from my lungs.

The movement from my limbs.

The storage for my brain.

The thief.

I reel off the pandemic stole my home, my partner, and my job from me like a reverse shopping list.

My structure got pickpocketed.

The tangible disappearing before my bloodshot eyes.

The same eyes I lock with deniers when they tell me of a theory from their doctorate in Facebook and I offered to show them the graves of my 34 dead friends.

But they've moved on.

You've all moved on.

Except those of us who are still housebound.

What happens when the life I knew got choked in the night and everyone pretends it was an inconvenience long in the past?

You can tumble.

To despair.

And grab for the ashes of your life like grief.

Dip your tongue into its bitterness.

And hold your dripping empty arms up to the world in wailing.

But.

No one is watching.

They've all moved on.

And all you're left with is space.

Room to grow.

Room to bloom.

Room to receive.

It's rare you get a chance at a second lifetime with people you love.

I get to decide.

This? This is a birth.