I just decided, no, my brain just decided without me, actually, that I needed to write again. It may not be the perfect choice to do it in English, because I can’t make no mistakes here, but another language enables you to sit back a little, look at your thoughts from a different perspective. The last weeks have been confusing enough, without the pandemic situation going on out there (I am sitting at my desk, a window in front of me, with the view of the street I’m living at). My relationships are getting closer with each day, because of the constant fear of losing someone I like or love. At the same time, more or less voluntary distance is keeping us apart – and I feel alienated. The urge to touch my partner is becoming unbearable, like jumping on the next train to Sweden unbearable. Touching heals, it tells me, that a person is standing by me, is there to hold me if something goes wrong. Touching is the proof of a relationship, more than words can be. Touching is a kind of language with less misunderstandings. No touching means less communication and less warmth. A frostbite is announcing itself and it’s not the weather. Well, I guess the only possible solution to this right now is hugging myself. There, there. As long as I am thinking of me as a good person, nothing bad can happen.