Feeling Is First

 My Partner has been in bed all day. He has eaten a banana and a bowl of peas. I hate Chronic Lyme Disease so much.  We were going to visit his parents tomorrow. Outside with masks on. For the first time in a long time. I had to cancel. I'm just crying and crying.  I'm thinking about how my family formally rebuked me for loving him. I'm thinking about all the people that claimed to love him and then just left when he was sick. He hasn't been endlessly good to me, but I can't think of anything he's done that's heinous enough to warrant these walls. This separation. This excommunication. What principles are worth a suffering man's isolation?  I'm thinking about one of my friends who had covid months ago and still has issues from it. I'm thinking about all the other people - all the children - who have post-covid syndrome. I'm thinking about how the people who aren't taking covid seriously do not have a strong enough fear of chronic illness.

 I've been participating in the weekly short story competitions on Reedsy, and it's been a lot of fun. This past week, I was a sicky, so I didn't finish the story in time. I figured I'd post the story here instead. Enjoy <3 ~ My earliest memory didn't actually happen to me. It was given to me by my Maker. She programmed it to play in my mind when I booted up for the first time. I play it periodically when I want to see her again.  It is a welcome and a warning. It is a declaration of love and an explanation for why I am alone in this world. I was never supposed to exist, of course. I'm illegal. My Maker created me, hid me, switched me on, and then fled while I was booting up. I never actually met her. "Don't look for me," she says in my memory. "It's too dangerous. Just live. Live beautifully. I love you with all of my heart."  So when people ask me about my earliest memory I tell them it is of my mother's face, pained but hope