Guardia

It is a rather dull affair to bequeath our day-by-days to the uncharted new world of pandemia. Not long ago it was but a fleeting sentiment to want to be free; free from work, from responsibilities, free from the interference of external stimulus. Now the contrary is a rather permissibly more desirable outcome. This uncertainty offers us no reprieve. We still have to crawl somehow back to reality. And in so doing would punch us with the realisation that our woes have never parted ways, it resumes, accumulates over the absence of attention. The payback is intense. It is going to be a sordid affair, one that we had thought relinquished upon the onset of this persistent outbreak. If, by any chance, a miracle struck me down from where I currently sit  and bless me with redemption or solace, my gratitude, which has eluded me for the longest time now, would be most appreciated. It has taken a toll for the lot of us, and it is indeed so banal that my teeth gnash at the memory of it, sight unseen. Would others have it better than us? Somewhere out there the certainty is more than reassured. It does not make it any easier for me thinking of when the time comes.

These days I struggle to fathom if this is a precursor to a once-held fantasy of mine. A world I thought to be able to endure effortlessly, regardless of the pandemonium that surrounds me.