Viruses. Tiny beings treading water, waiting on the next wave. We wait to drown, sinking into the crushing darkness only to fight to the surface yet again. Small connections and small impact, we flail at the world we know, waiting on change. Routine is a comfort, our balm. Chaos our reality. We push and claw for more yet never gain ground. Sisyphus external. We have no time, busyness consuming our days, loneliness and misery our nights.
