My eyes meet my gaze at the sight of myself

A person I do not recognize

A person I do not know

I look into me and try to find

The person I was

The person I knew

She blinks as I blink

She shakes her head side to side as I do

She is a reflection of me

Yet she is not

There is an emptiness in me

A vault with nothing to keep safe

A flame extinguished by this nothingness

And a life filled with this smoke

And I wonder

And wonder

Wonder

It feels all too surreal

Yet tangible and reminding

Of the consistency of being volatile

And the remorse of being freed

I trace back to this person again

Gazing beyond the ebony eyes

Beyond the imitation of myself

Only to find everything shatter

And multiply

And ruin

Into these shards I look again

Only to find my world shatter around me

And me around the world

Where this time

I do not know if I can piece back together

The past that was me

And the present that is us.

Nothing had changed. Absolutely nothing. Sure, the air was cleaner and the people happy to be out once more. But everything else was exactly as it was before. Almost as if those two months of total isolation had never been. My friends still wanted to party and drink life away. People still polluted massively. Social injustice was stronger than ever. Nothing had changed.

I had hoped, so much hope, that an international crisis might allow us to put our society into perspective. But no, we still put economy before health, the rich before the poor, ourselves before others. Had this taught us nothing? Hadn’t it proved that money or fame couldn’t keep us safe?

Perhaps it taught me that we couldn't make a change. If this crisis couldn’t change humanity for the better, then nothing could. I watched the water flow at my feet, thinking about how nature was so beautiful if you took the time to look at it. But who had time anymore? The world spun back into its endless circle of money and consumption, where nature doesn’t have a place.

I had left the sweet shelter of my home, fantasising about change, only took walk out into a world that was exactly the same.

The streets are cleaner. Smoking: an absurdity of the past now reserved for the extravagant and the reckless.

The bus stops reek of alcohol. The smell is not attached to the young coming home from an adventurous night, nor the homeless. Every morning a wet film covers the seats like dew.

The driver sits behind a plastic shield. Passengers keep to themselves. Too internalized the distance. Mumbling towards their phones. Wiping them once in a while. The textile industry has commercialized more inches of skin. Rose petals, dots or patterns cover nose and mouth.

The passing shop windows are covered in adverts. Discounts, clearance sales, to let signs in red and yellow. Even the lady at the window makes do with her spring coat.

A breeze invites the leaves to dance. A cat is lolling about in the sun on the bench. The park has flourished in life. Its beauty humbles the eyes of visitors and the oak has not lost its dress yet.