Uncomfortable silence

Night and day melted into one another as the hands of the clock lost their importance with each passing day. Each day blurred into the next as though I was stuck in a dream from which I could not wake up. I stopped thinking about what I had to do tomorrow or the day after; nothing separated me from the walls that surrounded me apart from my continuous ability to breathe.


Something unseen morphed our lives into a giant prison; changed our priorities, transformed our understanding of even the simplest things in life. My whole life suddenly and without warning became a single day stuck on a loop, a far cry from the fast-paced life that I thought was my reality. The truth was that it was not my reality, but a fantasy -- a way for me to escape myself.


The streets haven’t changed, but they’ve become terrifying. The people distanced from one another, each in their own private bubble, and nothing left but the trees, the lampposts and me.


Emptiness became a persistent companion, along with estrangement. My words seem heavy, my days stolen, and there’s nothing I can do about it. My documentation of my life is merely an attempt at finding meaning out of the incessant ennui, the uncanny silence that I’m so afraid of. It’s an attempt at disturbing the silence, a way to remind myself I’m still alive. But how can I be alive when I’m not living?


I don’t know what I can do or how long I will live through days that are forced upon me, that lie outside of my control. I don’t know what the world will look like after this is over. All I know is there’s no going back to the other reality, to the fantasy, even after this is over.


I’m standing in front of a dark path that leads nowhere, that offers me no signs, no choices. I’m not sad like everyone else, not scared; I just wait.