I watch movies from my childhood and I can feel a nostalgia for a past that had more silence. jealousy for a past that had more silence.
one person i was talking to for a little while sent me a photo of a sunny room where they imagined we were as we texted; our exchange became that room then, and when i opened my phone i could step out of the fog and into the sunlight with them, with anyone. this feels a little silly now, but i remember feeling like it was almost political, what we were doing: world-building our horny utopias, our own private worship spaces. can you really feel real in the middle of a fantasy? i think so.
August of another summer, and once again
I am drinking the sun
and the lilies again are spread across the water
∆ Mary Oliver, from The Pond in “Felicity: Poems”.