And then there was war, on the other side of the pond. I listen to interviews with families, fleeing, through my car radio.
Tomorrow in the evening there’s a candlelight vigil at the interfaith center at school. Some friends and I are going.
At school, there was cable knitting in the back row of the lecture hall beside a friend. There was sharing notes with an acquaintance in class. There was a lesson on the Shakespeare riots.
At home, there is the smell of baking chocolate chip cookies and burning beeswax candles and tomato sauce on the stove. Incense escapes below the crack of my sister’s bedroom door. The cat is purring. My fingers are absently picking away at guitar strings. Most of my family is close enough to reach out and hold, but some of them are much farther away.
I’m frightened.
Love you.