Drifting throughts, carried on a light breeze. The taste of caf, the scent of rain. It is a summer morning in Citadel, and the year is 2020. We are broken, here in the future, but we are not down.
A morning run; a promise kept. The world, in these silent times, is different. Resurgent, perhaps?
More time passes in lockdown. I become all-too-familiar with the world around me. I break it up, where I can, with exercise.
Establishing the boundaries of our new lives we concentrate on what we can. Answers don't exist for the question we all ask: when will this end?
We've shut ourselves down. What does this mean? I try to keep my mind quiet, my anxiety at bay; pacified. I don't always win. None of us do.