I couldn't catch my breath for months, after my son was born. Weeks slid past, while days only lazed around, afternoons coagulated. I never had the damn minute, to sit and breathe. To stop hyperventilating, all the time. I just couldn't cope. And i barely tried.
I got back to work. Then, came the pandemic.
Boy oh boy. Was that something.
Inside four walls, our caged souls, trying work and get through our days like nobody was dying outside. We cooked, took baths, watched tv, stared at the roof, never shut down the work laptop, and people never ever stopped calling. I nursed and spoke on the phone. I nursed and cooked. I nestled my son and stocked up groceries. There was no getting away, there was no where to go to. Roads felt so foreign.
I sat with my son on my lap in my balcony full of plants who were nearly the only company we had. I took pictures of our feet, his within mine. Just the way it's supposed to be. Still nothing ever felt alright.
An agony of ages simmered within my chest, refusing to divulge why. And I let it. Because without that much of free hand, those demons would come to consume me awhole. And I had to last. Mothers have to last.
Months went by, years also, I lost count. I could no longer wait and quit my job. Because I could no longer answer the phone. I just couldn't.
During those three months of notice, almost every afternoon, i stopped working at 5. I took my son to the roof. While he played, I looked up. I looked up at the sky. And its purplish hues. Orangish crimson hues.
I waited for clouds to part, and then to merge again and to form shapes. Like sketches that some god forgot to complete. I breathed in lungfuls of tired city air and looked at the chaos of tall buildings for as far as eyes could imagine. I saw flocks of birds flying homeward, I hoped I could too.
I skipped with my son. I ran with him. Whooshed away dozens of pigeons and giggled. I told him stories. We giggled some more. Lights came on in distant hotels, which had no guests those days. And we would go home after the sun set. On some evenings, we stayed longer, reluctant to accept the day's end. During those surplus minutes after the sun set, momentarily though, everything just felt alright.