I borrowed the book of poetry. I decided that I have to read poetry, to read more poetry, not occasionally, but on purpose. So, I borrowed this book of poetry and started reading from page one. It seemed weird and disjointed, but also strangely rhythmic. And only when I got to page four, I swear it’s not a metaphor, I’m making nothing up and I am not dumb, but it was page four as I finally realised that I was reading the contents. I said it was not a metaphor, but it must be a metaphor for something. I feel very lonely these days and miss my communities fiercely.