“Quarantine Diaries,” by David Garyan (Day 43)

Quarantine Diaries – Day 43 April 26th, 2020

Trento, Italy

Fate

The mind is a thermometer in a room full of sick children. You want the world not to affect you, but the heart’s mercury must measure people’s afflictions— tell you how bad things really are. It’s better if your eyes become syringes,

and not just syringes,

but those loaded with morphine, so that any pain they witness your body won’t feel. God would’ve been forever merciful had he granted us ears that were sharper— sharper than surgical knives, but far less acute than blunt swords, those that have spilled too much blood. Every winter pierces the flesh like a nurse who hates her job. Every summer warms the body like a lover who wants to leave you. Every spring colors your vision like a painter with depression. Every fall strengthens your resolve like the first leaf to change its complexion. There’s no longer enough snow to cover our footprints, no longer enough sun for the light of morning; all the shades of green you wear can’t conceal you from the forest’s eyes, and all the smiles you use are drawers full of spices— all those that you didn’t label.