change, nostalgia, lightness - by Ava - bookbear express

Aldous Huxley and D.H. Lawrence, 1928 All my friends are moving to the city. March disappears into April into May. I tell people that after a year spent mostly with S—mostly with my laptop and my bike, mostly reading with my screen brightness turned up too high under the comforter for hours because I can’t fall asleep and can’t stay asleep—I’ve forgotten how to make conversation. I’m nervous. I’m also grateful: I don’t like phone calls, I don’t like video chats, I prefer being in person. You can tell everything about someone from the quality of their silence.