Spring

I've never lived spring like this: from afar,
the scent of roses doesn't reach me. I look
at it like a painter's painting; to understand
it better, I stay at a distance.

My breath becomes heavy, and my anguish
builds a nest in my chest. I keep a mask on
my face that will protect me from all the
viruses, but much more from myself, my
dark thoughts, and my sadness.

I want to chase my thoughts away from
me, see them fly weightless like kites in
the sky. Then my spirit will be reborn; it
will be clear, transparent, and light.