Looking Out

Inside today: inside my house, inside my room, inside my bed, inside my head. This is the price for two consecutive days of activity. Behind the netting, an open window. Open curtains too, now that the glaring sun is in retreat. Air-holes made for this bug-in-a-jar. I can’t get out, but at least I won’t suffocate.

A second window is also open, not to give air, but something even more precious: human contact. This window takes my words and sends them out into the aether, returning with words from faceless, nameless fellow writers. We help each other with information and encouragement, and suddenly the jar doesn’t seem to matter so much.

Illness takes a toll
The bells mark off my sentence.
Warm days keep it short.

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