I was weak with sweats and dreaming.

In a fever wretched with guilt.

No one spoke or shared a thought.

Not a whisper, and silence built.

I was swimming in a blue zone.

Dark hues spun and mixed with grays.

The smell of fear filled our lungs.

Not one thought of brighter days.

Here it is, soon Christmas Eve.

First year without a tree.

The world didn’t end, and I’m still here.

So many things are still to be.