Love in the Time of Pandemic
I want to inhale you, smell your hair, rub my cheek against yours, hold you close and dance in the moonlight
I want to talk to you, tell you everything: the important stuff, the trivial stuff, the mind-blowing stuff, the boring stuff
I want to hold your hand, sit in silence, sip from the same glass, eat from the same plate, sleep in the same bed
The stomach tightens and sinks.
The heart and lungs follow.
It’s a confounding reaction to a receipt of affection.
It’s familiar, and, therefore, oddly comforting.
But familiarity can be a curse.
A cursed reminder of what once went wrong when you were just trying to do things right this time.
This time it’ll be different, you say.
Why? You’re different, but what are you doing differently?