The emptiness brought by a fear that we did not know and that now seems to be a tenant of our soul.

The emptiness of confined spaces.

The emptiness of life, suddenly, suspended.

The emptiness of hours that those who are alone tell differently.

The emptiness of the uncertainties that pile up and of which we have not yet spoken.

The emptiness of the eyes of those we see suffering and the emptiness of the many who suffer without us seeing it.

The emptiness of caregivers at the end of strenuous shifts.

The emptiness of those who had to remain exposed, day by day, so that others would be safe.

The emptiness of everything that, from one moment to the next, was postponed.

The emptiness of that elderly woman who spends the day with her face against the window.

The emptiness of the streets from which comes a silence that is not a silence, but a kind of action to evict everyday life.

The emptiness of meetings and conversations.

The emptiness that friends sense.

The emptiness of laughter.

The emptiness of all HUGS not given.

José Tolentino Mendonça