3:45 AM: Woke up because my throat feels like I swallowed a cactus.
The digital clock glowed a bruised purple, marking a time that didn't exist for anyone else but the ghosts in the room. i wrote this at 4am sick with covid
You drift in and out of sleep. You are not sure if the dream you just had—about your 3rd grade teacher explaining how to fold a fitted sheet to a raccoon—actually happened. The line between your fever dreams and reality has dissolved. You check your phone. You have sent three incomprehensible texts to your group chat. One of them just says "Cough. Ouch." Another is a voice message that is just 27 seconds of heavy breathing. 3:45 AM: Woke up because my throat feels
The timestamp on the clock is a threat. 4:03 AM. You are not sure if the dream you
: Many writers describe a literal "breathlessness" in their verse that mirrors the physical symptoms of the virus.
Your body needs extra fuel to fight the virus, even if your appetite is low.
Flip the pillow. The cold side is your only friend right now.
