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“Quarantine Diaries,” by David Garyan (Day 44)


Photo by Tigran Hovhannisyan



Quarantine Diaries – Day 44 April 27th, 2020

Trento, Italy

Invisible


My body feels no fatigue but still it wants to sleep. Since I sailed away from childhood’s port, no dreams have crossed the black ocean to reach me. How nice it would be to wake up under a waterfall of silence, ears soaked with shivers, eyes blurred by darkness— and how comforting would it be calling out to a parent, or anyone who can turn the color of charcoal into warmth, into light; sadly the nightmares of adults no longer matter unless they’re seen with open eyes. There’s too little absence of glare when I close the door and draw every blind. The room is too crowded with silence for air to disperse. Is there a pillow big enough for my mind, and why is every blanket too small when I must sleep alone? It’s best to open your eyes and stop trying— one day, everyone close to you will disappear like musicians in large orchestras; you’ll recognize their faces, but their hands will speak like the strangers playing beside them.

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