4.0 is different.
Seven days is not seven days.
It’s the endless months, weeks, days, hours and minutes of 2.0. Remember?
We don’t want to remember. Have tried to forget, move on, get out, breath, live.
Yet, here we are. Remembering.
In trackie dax, masks and slow mornings. The day stretches out with no appointments, no sport, nothing. We know all this only too well.
It’s only day three of 4.0 and ScoMo is a no show. Sicktoria, we are alone. But we already knew that, been here before too.
I want to run but can’t, haven’t been able to bring myself to cross that imaginary border since, well, before all this anyway. Time has lost meaning since 2020. Besides, another city would not be home and now I hurt because my home is in trouble. Again.
4.0 is indeed different. It’s exposure-list Russian Roulette. A bullet fired at me, I wait to hear if it hit, like thousands of others too, who, standby. Anxious, waiting. A text is good, please don’t call.
Yet, our biggest fear, a thought that makes me sick to my stomach, remains unspoken.
That seven days will not be seven days.
Featured artwork: Lockdown 2.0 by Karina Grift. Acrylic on canvas.