Sharing

Sharing a bed with you

Breathing together in one misty out-breath

legs mingling and feet tap-taping

as our arms intertwine and we gaze at the ceiling sky.

I turn away for a moment to let a happy tear roll down my cheek and I turn back reaching a hand out towards you when

something stops me.

Something clear and hard and shiny

Perspex.

Now we are separated and as I stare at this screen that’s appeared in between

I watch as letters appear.

“Due to the Covid 19 pandemic, social distancing measures are now in place. Please keep a 2 meter distance. Remember hands face space”.

I panic. I’m confused. What is this? What are these words I’ve never even heard before how the hell

can a distance be social? What happens now? Why can’t I touch you? Why can’t you hold me? I need to be held right now more than anything but you can’t and I can’t and I’m suddenly gripped by the fear that we may never hold us again when –

I blink.

I breathe.

I look again.

At this translucent barrier between us.

It’s not a wall made of brick.

I can still see you.

Hear you.

There are no reinforcements, or battlements or guards patrolling the parapets.

And I realise.

This is temporary.

This shield has no permanence but it does have importance and though it makes me sad to hold your hands only in my dreams this transient bit of essential plastic can disappear as easily as it arrives

and it will.

Until then

I look back up to the sky ceiling, my own this time, and I take comfort in the fact that you’re doing the same.

Counting down the stars

until we share a bed again.

©Angela Holmes

Stay safe all.