It has only been two nights now, but it feels like a whole series of nights that I have sat at home on my grey couch, or in my wicker chair, both in my living room, reading. Entrenched. And if I am not reading, I am listening to writers give book launch interviews via Zoom, since uploaded to Youtube. I can still hear the crickets or the geckos. I can still hear myself as I allow thoughts to take shape aloud. Am I speaking for myself or for someone who is not there? Difficult to say but say I do. I place my laptop on the washing machine next to the kitchen sink as I do the dishes. The writers watch me without realizing. The writers’ voices are kind. A soothing feeling comes over me. My flat has become a snug cocoon or a drifting spaceship in the night.
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