Quarantine, a time for remembering

I remember seeing this girl once. Her dress was torn, her knees scrapped, and she ran through the long grass barefoot on her way to the unknown adventure that awaited her in the woods.  She spent her days chasing the wind as her long hair whipped around her face, coming close but never quite catching it.

I remember seeing this girl once. She saw others in a way that allowed her to celebrate their joy, cry their tears, and to feel their pain. This sight gave her fire that once ignited could not be stopped by the dull waters of unseeing people.

I remember seeing this girl once. I watched as she stepped into the mass sameness of the unseeing. She ran to the farthest corners of this new place, searching for a home for her untamed spirit. She ran until she became too tired to run. When she couldn’t bear to take another step, her torn dress and ripped knees were left behind for ripped jeans and a black T-shirt. She hoped the darkness would hide the flames so she could rest her feet and find her place.

I remember seeing this woman once. I watched as she walked through the world in her ripped jeans and black T-shit. She smiled at the other people, laughed at their jokes, liked what they liked, sat at their table, and rested her feet.

I remember seeing this woman once. She had rested for so long when she got back on her feet, her muscles ached, and her voice was weak. Her jeans were feeling stiff, her black T-shirt suffocating. She took her first step, stumbled, and fell to her knees. After a few moments, she slowly steadied herself, back on her feet, bloody knees but still standing.

I remember seeing this woman once. She stepped out into the world, torn dress fluttering around her bare feet, hair blowing across her face.