Love in the Time of Quarantine
I reply, then mutter, “It’s just my responsibilities coming back to haunt me.”
I shove the papers into a pile, then bend to retrieve what fell to the floor—files, envelopes, letters I’ve avoided for weeks. I’m barely sleeping, haunted by dreams. Sometimes they’re sweet—movies with Lex, late-night card games, tangled in bed.
But more often, I dream of the night I hurt her. The way she looked at me. The fear. The pain. How she ran.
Those dreams leave me drenched in sweat, with screams trapped in my throat. Sometimes I vomit. Every time, I wake up shattered.
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