Passing time: A poem

Illustration of a person sitting in at their desk, using their computer in a dark room.
Emily Bi/File
Person staring at computer in dark room

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Some days stretch on forever, losing all meaning of conventional time. 

One hour spills into the next, and it is as if even the Earth is relearning how to function, too. 

Is this my second or third cup of tea? 

 

Some days dissipate before my eyes, robbing me of time that I didn’t know I’d miss.

Dusk light peeks through my bedroom window, one blink there and not the next. 

I should go to bed now.  

 

I was not made for self-isolation, for knowing the four walls of a bedroom so intimately. 

Memorizing the textured patterns of drywall to pass the time.

I need to get out of here.

 

Some days are more lonely than others, finding companions in houseplants and garden sprouts.

Looking for new hobbies to occupy my mind from the worry of never feeling normal again.

Did I water the plants today?

 

Six months and counting, managing smiling eyes at strangers walking past in the store.

We anxiously await for days to feel like days again and time to pass at the appropriate pace.  

Just a couple more weeks. Just a couple more weeks. Just a couple more —

Contact Ashley Soliman at [email protected].