As I sit and watch the cold March wind blow the snow down the street, I am achingly lonely. I sit here thinking about the one I cannot touch now, no more than I ever could before. Social distancing has always been the way it is with us. Self-isolation from her is a way of life for me.

Why does the threat of imminent death make a risk more tantalizing? Why does mortality make us want to break the rules? Why don’t I just call her? I think I will.

We walk together down an empty road. “I want to touch you”, I say. “I want you to”, she answers. I reach out with my gloved hand and it slides around her mittened fingers. We walk without words until the warmth of her palm reaches me. We walk, touching.

When we reach her step again, I squeeze her hand. She squeezes back. We smile, together.