(…)

The emptiness brought on by a fear we didn’t know about and which now seems to be a tenant of our soul.

The emptiness of confined spaces.

The emptiness of life, suddenly suspended.

The emptiness of the hours that whoever is alone counts differently.

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

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 could be safe.

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

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

The emptiness of the streets gives us a silence that is not a silence, but a kind of eviction from 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