We’re racing towards one million cases worldwide. Five percent have died. Soon, the numbers will stop making sense.

The days have become a carousel spinning in slow motion and your eyes keep finding the candy pink horse with the golden mane, over and over again. What colour were the other horses? How many were there? Were there people on them? Was there music playing? You look harder, you hold your breath, you stand on tiptoe, but you can never tell.

round and round
the moon around the earth around the sun –
still, this stillness

Also read:
Curfew: Day 8