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The rules of Covid

By Elise Zurstrassen, 20

When the rules are there, I’m afraid I want to.

Want to take the hand of the crossed man on the way to the supermarket

Want to kiss her in the heart of a bubble of pure and strong sound

Want to smash the jitters to step up to the niche

Feeling like driving at full speed on the freeway despite being a young driver

Want to watch a movie with the family and be able to leave them to go dancing, outside

Want to dry up the rivers of passion that flow in my veins by exceeding the time of the curfew

Want to bake cookies with my brothers who will eat too much chocolate

Want to send postcards from all over the world, even and especially to those who send nothing in return

Want visas in my passport rather than a Covid certificate

Want to turn around in Friendship Alley because I realized I wanted to keep him and intercept him outside his door to hold his hands

Want to see my sister in winter and summer to make family

Want to see the waves swimming between waves rocks that the tides kiss

Want to fill my backpack with hot summer memories

Want to sweep away with the back of your hand these rules that lock me in and lock me up on myself

Want to be in the audience so that the teachers ask me questions

Want to be at school to reach, if not my dreams, the horizon

Want to enjoy strong friendships that never break

Want to do a Jackson Pollock on a cardboard in my cabin to paint the fury while sweaty

I won’t be 20 anymore.

I will no longer want, no more energy, no more time, no more excuse for the student budget

I will no longer have the carelessness, the orphan joy of reason, the metro terminus at 11:55 a.m.

I will no longer have the kot, no longer want to put on my boots to ride a bike under the graying horizon

I won’t be 20 anymore.

Instead, I will walk cautiously by the ponds where children swim

Instead of acne masks, I will wear anti-wrinkle masks

Instead of wearing my LGBT flag mask I’ll wear a mourning mask for my walled-in youth

Instead of being angry, envious, joyful, instead of being hungry to live, to feel, to discover, to leave, to travel to meet to feel to move away from dancing to sigh to kiss to caress to breathe to come back to start to cry to join to start I will take a blue pill every morning

I will no longer want to see us in this round, this dance of life and desire

I have not stopped living my life as if the ground is going to give way under my feet, as if life is too long to spend it boring, even if we are invited to believe that boredom is good for creativity

I took my friends by the hand to have lunch, read a book, relax and laugh

I tasted the pleasure of parties, dancing bars, non-dancing bars where you improvise a track

I tried my luck in low-cut dresses and tuxedos borrowed from my little sister

I wet my lips with the potion of adult life, but the glass ripped from my hands

As I put

water in my wine,

water in my vaccine,

water in my water;

I feel less and less.

Will the vaccine be enough to fix me?

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