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Oct 2021
have you been eating well? i asked

yes, she said. her face was shining

your sleep?

quite well. i wake up in the morning now, at least.

vaccine?

one shot. and i'll be having a booster shot soon.

great. great.

.

.

we had beer today. she brought over some pastries. for once i was not left hungry.

she was wearing a beige sweater. she wore boots instead of slippers. she wore the same glasses.

you changed your lightbulb, she said.

yeah, orange now. a bit better, innit?

honestly? for me, not really. it makes the place look like a western.

oh. ok.

.

.

why don't we go upstairs? she asked

it's a mess. i had a re-haul of sorts. i'll have no visitors there.

oh, ok.

.

.

there was a silence as i finished my beer. she finished hers as well.

i grabbed a cup of water. i had to take my meds. i opened the last day of my pill box.

you still take a lot of meds?

i have to, i said. the old ones. some vitamins. this horse pill.

really? that one?

heh, yeah. it's not that big of a deal.

she held a chuckle.

this one's for humans. mother got it from a pharmacist, not a vet. not sure if if does anything, but it's pretty much just nothing. i just take it so she'd get off my ***.

she kept her snark. it was nice to hear a laugh.

i took my pills and washed it down. taking so many still left me feeling like i swallowed a stone.

she was staring. her expression was... unco.

what are we going to do now, she asked

i took a breath to clear my chest. i felt stiff.

you know what, why don't we go outside. it's past the hot hours.

sure, why not.

get your mask.

.

.

.

it was the finest week of september. the sky was streaked by yesterday's rainclouds. there would be a pretty sunset today.

it was not a busy sunday.

no one would be walking to church.

there would still be no children playing, nor old people in their garden chairs gossiping with their neighbors.

and there were no cars in this particular afternoon.

it was quiet.

.

.

we walked slowly.

she told me her usual gossip. i responded with the usual humor. the standard back and forth customary within slow walks.

i still felt stiff as we went. she looked relaxed by comparison. she seemed to be in better form than me the whole day.

there's usually no one in the park these days, i said.

well yeah, no one's going outside.

they still do. but a lot more subdued, i think. though these days are a lot better.

yeah.

.

.

we reached the park.

the slides and swings were empty. the covered court right besides it was empty as well. adjacent was a quiet construction site. it had replaced the trees and bushes that this park once had. this place has changed over the years.

we sat in a concrete bench. i ripped my mask off to breath the empty air.

she kept hers on. she wore a cloth mask with an embroidered figure in pink.

wait, are you vaccinated? she asked.

yep. that single dose one made by the people who make shampoo. sure felt like i was injected shampoo too.

ah.

she took her mask off as well. she took a breath. it came out sounding like a sigh.

are you a lot better now? i asked.

yes, i am. believe me. you?

don't ask me yet.

okay. do you still talk to your friends?

not really.

work?

no.

school?

ha, no.

.

.

do you still write?

no. couldn't.

well, that never stopped you before. what was that quote that you always say?

what quote?

the one about everyone being a poet.

ah, right. everyone makes poetry, but only some write it down.

that always was a funny one. i liked hearing that a lot from you drunk.

yeah.

for someone who despises clichΓ© quotes, you always repeat that like everyone didn't hear it.

only when drunk. i say a lot of clichΓ© stuff when drunk.

i liked those times. times with crowds. and beer. and clichΓ©s.

i like them too. those times will come again.

yeah.

and we'll be a lot older, with a lot more stories to tell.

yeah. some more drunken poetry from you.

.

.

the minutes towards sunset arrived.

.

.

you never liked my poems. i never saw you as one who would care for those, other than like song lyrics.

i like it. i like it coming from you too.

oh. ok. thanks.

it's nice to hear. i liked it when you describe and stuff.

it's not that creative. it's not even clever.

and that one afternoon...

yeah, that one. that wasn't so long ago.

she faced me. her hair was glowing within the golden light.

she wore blush. i could never tell why women would want to look like that. a blush could mean so much different emotions.

.

.

.

no writing. tell me a poem. describe me.

now?

it's the perfect time.

.

.

the last of the sun peaked over the building roof.

the light reflected from the greater clouds colored the lesser haze in vermillion; blush over the darkening blue.

the green and trees and bare scaffolding in their shadow, embellished by the setting light, as articulate and abstract as an impressionist frame.

the remnant of the afternoon heat drove the wind to chorus, and now it sings a soft encore.

the world loses another warmth, but the chill of this hour will soothe, before another freeze.

and the image of you

within this

the world, fickle and sibylline

but always, with everything, ethereal

with you, divine.

.

.

.

"you're beautiful."

.

.

she smiled. she leans for a kiss.

i take it. it was not as cold as it usually felt.

.

.

.

.

are you a lot better now?

a bit. remind me to give you some ivermectin later.

funny.

we broke distance again. better be safe.

she laughs. her expression became dissolute.

keep your worm pill. come here.

.

.

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