WOULD IT EVER BE THE SAME She wondered if it would ever be the same. The deep breaths that yielded oxygenated lungs, but no sweet scent of the things she longed for. The comfort of the kitchen, the nisus of her handmade dough, her home-grown vegetables, the milkiness of the fresh mozzarella and the garlic and oregano which she always used abundantly. Which no longer smelled the same. No longer sparked her excitement. The loss of a culinary expectation. Because we had an communal expectation, we listened to the spark of excitement from news reporters who believed we would care for one another and would do what was right so that the illness would no longer be an issue. As one of those who's symptoms abundantly lingered on the milky fog of her brain, dealing with symptoms no one could see. The illness that was not home-grown but who's nisus ravaged the world we live in, leaving no one the comfort of connection, that robbed so many people of the sweetness of living and end...