21 Jan 2022

I tend to isolate under threat. (I almost typed stress, but it is something more seedy and chronic than anxiety, than pressure.) In a place so immense and uncertain, I build my web and hope to bundle my people in soft silk. I call them for drinks and for hugs. I can pull myself, and us, together.

A man and a woman each stand in front of a rusty red door of an old building, split by a pole. They wear winter coats. The pattern on the doors is elegant and squiggled.

```

< >

⚄