the slow eschaton

It is your tenth month in this place. You have moved apartments, thrown away old clothes, replaced them — and yet still you are here. In this endless moment that is also a beginning. The slow eschaton. 

Your friends have left you. Scattered across the country, hiding in place. You Zoom them sometimes and it makes your heart light to see their faces through the digital fog. You crave an intimacy you cannot name, the dim warmth of sitting besides, facing another person. You are always cold, even when the heat is blasting in your apartment. Your cat (or a friend’s cat) sits on your lap, but you do not feel her warmth.

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