Before the apocalypse, I had been writing a novel about a man who watched his friend lose everything. I had been writing this book for years, and every time I felt like I finally found my voice, something would happen where I would question myself so severely that I lost all confidence in myself and in everything I was doing. The last time this happened was on the 24th of February. I had used this notebook to write down all of the thoughts and ideas I had for this story, and I opened it for the first time last night. All I could think about was how trivial that time feels to me now.

Yesterday morning I came across this image in my feeds, followed by this one. Over 121k people have died in America because of the coronavirus. How will humanity, especially Americans, see themselves once this is all over? Once we can see the destruction of this virus in total? How many lives were needlessly lost because we couldn’t stay inside or because we couldn’t wear face masks? I’m no angel, either, and I’m afraid to see what’s going to happen to us next.

Fireworks have been going off around my neighborhood every night this week. Next weekend, we will be celebrating our Independence Day. More fireworks will light up the night sky, some more dazzling than others, and all I can think about is whether we’re gathering together to truly celebrate or because we just like to see stuff explode.