Snapchat memories keep reminding me that I had fun a year ago. I crave the naive bliss in my eyes as I spend the beginning of 2020 dancing in a crowd of familiar strangers. The twelve months we’ve spent in a global pandemic have been marked by and masked with discomfort. Sometimes I get so caught up in getting through the day that I forget that our lives were interrupted abruptly and unforgivingly. I seek solace in iced coffee, audiobooks, and handwritten letters in an attempt to piece together the person I used to see myself as.
Each week feels like wading through water. Sometimes it feels like my heart has too many wet socks on. The first few weeks of quar were spent Facetiming and planning for the future. Groupchats became lifelines and I talked to my mom more than usual. Then I moved across the country and clawed for community. Forced friendship fed me lessons about loss and boundaries that I still cry about.
There’s a pit in my stomach whenever I think about everyone and everything I miss. These realizations don’t come kindly and they hurt an awful lot. People ask me about my plans and I shrug between breaths. If you asked me fifteen years ago I would've said that I wanted to be a fashion designer or a spy. Now I'm not sure if I want to be me at all.
The world is entirely different and I still get to work around eight. I miss my friends but I miss believing in magic even more. I’m holding onto those hopes and dreams. Thoughts and prayers weren’t doing much anyway.
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