By the Window｜A Wet Morning
February 28, 2022•155 words
The morning was wet and cold.
The kind that makes staying in bed feel reasonable.
I stayed there, reading,
while the news played in the background.
Reports of war.
Numbers rising.
One video appeared again and again.
A father handed his young daughter to a stranger,
asking him to take her across the border,
to her mother.
He was staying behind,
joining the defense of the capital.
He held her tightly.
Didn’t hide the tears.
Then he pushed her toward the car.
The door closed.
It felt like a goodbye
that might never be finished.
Similar stories surfaced throughout the day.
Different places.
Different faces.
The pandemic hadn’t fully passed.
Yet somehow,
we had found new ways
to hurt each other.
I lay there long after the screen went dark.
Thinking about how fragile life becomes
when it is placed
in someone else’s hands.
Being alive still felt
like something worth holding onto.
— WindowCat