writing

nothing was lost

nothing was lost

  A visual diary of the year before everything changed The sun sets on day 28 of lockdown. My small apartment is full of hastily-acquired plants, and I’ve spent an indulgent yet anxious afternoon lying in the sun on the footy oval just behind my building. Bare feet pressed firmly into the soft, lush grass, toes digging down to the damp earth. Hungry for connection. Hoping the cops will leave