Symphony No. 2 in G Min Am Fälligkeitstag

Perched on the edge of your chair, looking down into the pit of an opera house from box seats, a cacophony of self-taught singers floats upwards to greet your ears with a too tight, calloused handshake.

They scream, cry, and whine, paired with their plywood guitars and keyboards, anything they could learn to play online, the same fears of the Monday night newsroom broadcasts and whatever is going to come next after the kings and journalists and idols die out, it’s all a resounding chorus of visceral heartbreak and misery, it reaches back to the first night that you considered dying and fills your lungs with that grief, newfound and christened in the white light of a touchscreen.

The first day the world pressed down on your shoulders, a slight and unfamiliar pressure, you felt guilt for no particular reason, and sorry all the same. The future had made itself apparent, tapping at your window in the form of a grey crested bird, its own tip tip tapping lullaby that kept you up for weeks.