Being in this isolation cell, I have not once not thought about you.
The virus is stripping me bare, layer by layer of skin coming off, fibre rotting away, the outside shell falling apart, leaving nothing but the raw backbone, bare.
Landmarks, carved into bone like in neolithic temple walls while the outside graffiti is melting off.
I am reaching out for you, sitting there behind that soundproof glass and worry for your identity as I do for mine. Wishing the borders we set up in our minds would have stayed pencil lines on paper but instead we gave them nourishment to feed on through our own uncertainty of what would happen and who knows way before we got this taste of what it is.
I am reaching out for you, my hand coming to a halt.
We were thrown into this as partners in crime, coming out of it as none of it.
And as my breath gets caught on the unbreakable glass, I find inside my anarchy.