Anxiety rises within me like moths beating their dusty wings against the inside of my chest. They flutter, frantic and futile, until I release them, one by one, from their dark prison, kindred spirits in search of the light.
We live our lives on display in this city … shop windows of sadness. One: A girl strokes her grey cat and curls up on a sectional with a pillow between her knees, windows open to the unseasonably warm February breeze. Two: A cat sits on a dais fit for a deity, a king or queen of her domain. Three: Faith stands tethered to the wall while her owner gets something from the kitchen and then roughly grabs her leash and takes her for a walk. Child of the pandemic, Faith has had a rough day today, yelping all day in protest of her captivity. All of us here … alone.