January 26, 1906
Forty-seven days have passed and the bananas in my kitchen are still green. They remain untouched and unmoved since I brought them home from market. To my eye they appea
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Empty streets, forgotten buildings
Haunted by the ghosts of normality
Whispering of a time
Before
Is a dream
When hands were held, stores filled
Smiles not covered
Fear not embedded in minds
Tired minds
Terrified minds
Twisted and turned minds
Now
Is a loud scream, it is not a whisper
Not a breath, but a roar
Something that cannot be ignored
Friendly faces turned into strangers by masks
Six feet away
An uncrossable ocean
After
After is a question mark
Far off
A mirage in the distance
Shimmering and waving and changing form
We know nothing will ever be the same
Yet we wish for a time
Before.