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

Quarantine Diaries – Day 43 April 26th, 2020

Trento, Italy

Fate

In a war, the mind is a closed window that can't keep out the cold. In a room full of sick children, it's just a thermometer that works all too well. You want the world not to affect you, but the heart’s mercury never reacts. It measures only people’s afflictions— tells you how bad things really are. Better if your arms become syringes and your fingers turn into needles. Then the only burden they'd have to bear is cause a little pain to kill the greater suffering— if only for a while. God would’ve been forever merciful, but his mercy, too, is temporary. He could've granted us ears that heard things like a stethoscope. Instead he offered the gift of hearing— a blunt axe never listening to trees it can't cut. 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.