The kitchen is home to our ghosts. Dancing still as our supper simmers on the stove. You in my arms – I in yours – hand around your waist, my left hand in holding gently onto your right hand. Chest to chest. Your eyes are there floating in the air – staining at me – wondering why I’m crying in despair – when the world is waiting for a partner.
-3- years of turmoil and strife… left alone to battle the daily physical ailments of a virus no one knows much about. Legs buzzing – stomach churning – head spinning – a muscle mass deflating…
How to shore up my store of energy. Where is the way…Tired of people moving on… nothing to see hear… the apathy – not affecting me thinking …
And yet I get up and thank the universe for the flowers, the sunrise, the mere fact you and I met, loved, and committed to shoring up one another against whatever the circumstances threw upon each other. Yes I am tired. Yes I am lonely. Yes isolated. Yes fearful. Yes…grateful.