When this letter finds you, I hope that you are well.

    That you are smiling and enjoying the first days of the marching spring. Reclining in your worn-out garden chaise longue, among the carefully trimmed grass and the purple pansies, eating ‘apricot spoon sweet’ straight out of the jar.

  As for me, I would say that I am well…

That both of us are just fine.

 I would be lying.

I have no energy left within me to lie to you anymore.

   Things have been challenging.

   I always remember the way you smiled to me when we reunited, a constant reassurance and I long for it with each passing day. Will everything be alright? It has been a year now into the pandemic, and the world around me changed in more ways than I can count, even in this small, forgotten village by the cerulean sea.

 Darkness seemed to have made a permanent residence over the bereft roads. It didn’t matter if the sun was out or not, the world had lost its splendour and liveliness, leaving behind empty and silent ruins of what used to be. Everything was dull, an endless winter. The government failed us -as it always seems to do. Silence descended upon the houses like a thick veil, bringing along with it a foreboding sensation that the world would never be the same again.

‘Είθε να ζήσεις σε ενδιαφέροντες καιρούς.’

  ‘May you live in interesting times’; no wonder ‘interesting’ could be considered a curse…

   People responded to the pandemic the same way they did a hundred years ago, two hundred, and many more. Disbelief, realization, fear. They withdrew. Will we survive this? A tragedy like the ones we had read about in history books, in ‘The Betrothed’ or Thucydides’ ‘History’, a ground zero that levelled humanity and all we had worked for. Nothing seemed normal anymore. Our balance had been overthrown.

 Numb. Afraid. Alone.

   Unable to fight an enemy we could not see, touch or understand, we locked ourselves inside our own homes. We waited. Patiently. For the enemy to breach the last sanctuary we had. Close in on it. Slip through the cracks under the door, through the gaps in the windows. We assumed refuge; no such sanctuary existed. Our houses were no longer safe and we waited for the inevitable siege, for the enemy to kill us. Because it killed so devastatingly many of us.

   The mayor came down with the sickness.

  A cough, a bit of fever, and he was recovering fast enough to joke about it.

   The same could not be said for the old lady that used to come by our house, selling fresh daffodils, smiling brightly when I shared our freshly baked pumpkin bread with her. Something to keep her full until she went home, a recipe she hadn’t seen before yet loved, nonetheless.

    I can no longer stare at my plants, innocently thriving under the sun in the kitchen’s windowsill. Not when I know she was all alone in that sterile hospital room with no one to listen to her last breath leaving her body.

    So many died -and die- every single day in those hospitals. The doctors unable to provide the care they wanted. Who could blame them when they worked themselves to the bone, tried to honour their oath with pride and conviction? Save lives. Do your best for humanity. For your patients. Have no support yet bear the weight of society all on your own. Be called a hero!

     Some people died in their homes, some alone, unspoken to, in unfamiliar beds. Young and old. Their daffodils withered and scattered to the winds. 

    Mercifully, Cam took my plants into his atelier. Although I tried hard to hide my aversion, there was nothing I could hide from his kind, attentive eyes.

   We had to isolate ourselves from the very beginning. Cam’s compromised immune system made it all too dangerous and I didn’t want to take any chances.

   Sometimes, during the night, I am awakened by nightmares of him slipping away from me. Weakly, I am forced to hold his hand as he slips towards a place I cannot follow and I wake up, face tear-stained and frantic. These dreams follow me into the dull light of day and although I try to hide it the best I can, Cam offers me embraces and fleeting kisses that last longer than usual.

    As if he kisses a promise into my lips ‘I am here. I am alive. We are both alive and present.’.

   It feels almost reverent to slow dance with him in the middle of our living room from time to time, sometimes to music, sometimes to our heartbeats. To stay in bed longer in the mornings, basking in each other’s warmth and the crispness of the sheets underneath us. To cook and eat together, making weird recipes and laughing when they turn out inedible. To fight over who drank more from the rose liqueur his father gifted us for Christmas. To converse with the people bringing us our shopping through the glass door, smiling and thanking them for everything, this little action that means so unbearably much. The only human contact we have other than ourselves. 

Another handful of heroes we should sing about.  

   Hope, I find, is like a dandelion.

 It can only be truly understood when it blooms through the carnage of a crisis. Two sides of the same coin.

  Life doesn’t stop when disaster strikes; our paths do not end, rather change direction. Like water, they search for a different route, overcoming any and all obstacles. Bringing renewal to the scorched land, a sweet kiss of promised happiness left upon parched lips.

  Despite society coming to a stop, humanity survives strong still.

   We all went outside in our balconies to cheer for the doctors, nurses, and everybody working through these trying times. We peeked through the railings and sang together, our voices rising to the glimmering stars up above. We gathered supplies for the families in need because we knew we are all in this together.

  We created new art, new movies, new stories.

  Hope is what you get when distilling willpower and perseverance. Fear exposed how similar our lives are, despite our differences. We are no longer afraid. We discovered a sense of togetherness that will last us for many years to come. It made us understand one another.

     As much as I am afraid, I am also hopeful.

 We shall survive this trial as well.

  

I love you always,

Lucas

 

 

‘Are you done yet? It’s about to start!’ a muffled voice broke the silence, and Cam’s beautiful face peeked through the ajar door, already fully dressed and somewhat breathless from the rushing. Despite passing the entirety of his afternoon finishing up his last painting, he was as impeccable as always, not a trace of paint anywhere.

Lucas’s office, on the other hand, was in a state of controlled chaos, every surface of the tiny room covered either by books or forgotten papers lying around haphazardly. Cam had made valiant attempts to reign in the mess, but Lucas still insisted he preferred it exactly in that state; it had only earned him an eye-roll and a mumbled complaint of fighting a lost cause.

‘Yes, yes, we still have a few minutes left.’ Lucas rushed to abandon his writings, before throwing his coat over his narrow shoulders and stuffing the paper somewhere more private.

He may or may not have crumbled it a bit, but he was sure the recipient wouldn’t really mind.

They knew him too well to do so.

‘Quickly then, move it!’

It was well past midnight when Lucas and Cam wore their face masks and exited their house for the first time in a year, carrying along with them two white lanterns.

The brilliant pearlescent light spilled from within, only accentuating the darkness of a moonless night. Lucas reached out unafraid and laced his fingers with Cam’s, with the other man offering a reassuring squeeze as they took off towards their destination. Cam’s chocolate curls bounced with every step he took, his lithe body restless with an eternal energy few possessed.

Lucas watched him tenderly; veiled by the darkness -without fear of embarrassment- it was one of those occasions he could look upon him with unrestrained adoration, wondering to himself how did he ever get so lucky. To have someone love him utterly. Wholly. To love back without any restraint. Without fear.

All the while Cam tugged at his hand impatiently, wanting to get to their destination faster than anyone else.

No one spoke a single word.

All around them, the darkness stirred.

Indecipherable murmurs filled the spring air, a sweet low sound. Shadows emerged from the tight confines of their homes, contrasting the light from within, slipping onto the streets well away from one another. Shadows tall and short, young and old, carrying lanterns of their own. It felt forbidden to be out of their own sanctuaries, a fleeting moment they stole, filled with sin and so much desperation.

Yet they rebelled against all odds and dared make their way towards the sea.

Lucas could hear the rustling of their clothes. He saw the movements of their limbs and the excitement in their steps. Some, the very tiny ones, could not hold in their elation to finally be outside. Hushed by their parents, it was both sad and bitter to know these were children born within the last year and a half, only now experiencing the outside world for the very first time. How wondrous must that be for their innocent eyes…

The air smelled of lilac and spring. Tasted of honey. A cold touch against flaming-with-life cheeks.

As one they walked to the seashore.

Each lantern representing a soul.

A sense of utter bliss ran through the crowd as they stood upon the powdery sand, allowing the salt in the air to engulf them, listening to the small waves of the calm sea lick against it.

Laughter.

Song.

Cheers.

Hope.

‘I hope we’ll be able to do this again next year.’ Cam confessed lowly, giggling with excitement as his bottle-green eyes reflected the flickering lights of the lanterns and the stars.

‘We shall. And the next year, and the year after that.’, Lucas smiled. ‘What better way to celebrate the coming of spring and the passing of winter?’

All of them had lost so much.

Loved ones who were never going to come back to them, instead taking their rightful spots amidst the faraway stars hanging from the bejewelled skies. Galaxies of souls still looking down at their cherished ones ith love and compassion, guiding their steps surely through the unknown. Little sparkling lights of hope against total darkness. Although inevitable that they would join them one day, until it came to pass, they were still here. Breathing and smiling. Singing and laughing. Hoping and living. Keeping their loved ones in their hearts and wishing to the four winds that life would once again take its course after this disaster.

They were still alive.

They were not alone. There was solidarity in standing there, at that moment in time, souls that still breathe and souls that were gone. Hoping that everything would be alright.

One by one, they released the lanterns towards the midnight skies.

They rose gently into the wind, making their way towards the Milky Way.

Cam released his and turned, only to find Lucas hesitating to do the same.

Searching through his pockets, the man produced the letter. He tied it to the lantern, scribbling a few messy letters before he freed it to join the rest. Wrapping his hands around Cam, he pulled him close, basking at the kaleidoscope of mesmerizing feelings floating in the air.

That moment in time was all they wished for, brought a blooming calmness within their hearts, their eyes following the letter as it disappeared among the stars.

 

To Mom.

 

© Evangeline Konsoula, 2021

 

About the Author: Evangeline is an MA Creative Writing student, coming from Greece. She is currently working on her first official fantasy book series and can be found in second-hand shops, the source of her book hoarding. Mythology and symbolism are her favourite tropes.