diaries of a quarentine #day7
I brought a different book to bed tonight.
I stared at our little bookshelf and picked something I was last reading in the summer and — sock + surprise — never finished.
I brought it to bed with me, but there was sand inside the book. I felt the grains in my fingertips when I browsed through the pages. Tiny piles of sand ended up in my sheets. I got up and shook the book over my bathroom sink. Turned the water on and watched the grains of sand get washed through the drain, going back to Mother Yemanjá — who said homecoming is always a glamorous road. It was only then that I realized, this might be the only bit of ocean that I'll be in touch for the next months. Who knows when this pandemic will end. My fear is that we learn nothing from this. That we go back to the factories, to behind the computers or buses wheels like the lifestyle we live is not doomed to failure and self destruction, like the system we created to support all this pseudo comfort isn't doomed to failure and self destruction.
I went back to bed and layed in the sandy sheets. Moonligth danced on my skin. I closed my eyes, and listed to the waves crashing, 200 kms away.
