Because now we live in a time where the sound of the radio comes through an electronic device, perfectly tuned to the right station, crystal clear as long as the wifi will last.

(They’re singing stories of heroes again, and I will never be one of them.)

I get up. Go for a run. Log on without logging in. Switched off and not engaged, underestimated and confused. It’s springtime again, or rather, it’s pollen season. Whether this is an impending illness or unfamiliar allergies its almost impossible to tell. My eyes water. I’ll call it allergies. My eyes water a lot, these days. Only I know why and I’m not telling.

Boxes arrive on the porch, I check the mail a thousand times for something that will never arrive. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe it got lost in transit. Maybe it was never sent in the first place and cannot be tracked without an internet connection. This radio static is a comforting silence, while the bing of an error message is a never-ending tinnitus.

The Stone Roses bleed into the ringing of silence, of the wind, of the movement between the trees that is impossible to record or understand. For me, it echoes of the past before I am who I am. Before I am who I was. It was another mirror, another self, another lifetime, yet the strange satisfaction of the sound has not yet changed. Is this what it means to time travel?

I go for another run, the sun is hot. Wisteria seems to be everywhere, and I thought it these flowers were lilacs. Cars lazily pass by, whooshing and roaring, some still trying to push the speed limit. Where are they trying go? What are people trying to do? There is nowhere and we are all covered, alone, in apocalyptic masks: We are all trying to be comforted by useless pieces of cloth.

I need somewhere to go but all the places I used to visit are gone forever. If I went away, would you come too?