Somewhere,
perhaps in a bedroom across the world,
sits a boy as scared as me.
He doesn’t know me
and I don’t know him,
but I’m sure he’s there.
His brow is sweaty just like mine,
and as with me, tears prick at his eyes.
I can’t tell my parents
and he can’t tell his.
We are each alone,
yet connected in our fear.
I stretch out my arm
around this planet we call home,
and I hold the boy’s hand.
I feel its warmth, its grip.
I feel his blood pumping.
He doesn’t know me
and I don’t know him,
yet here we are,
holding each other’s loneliness.
Joshua Seigal
