It was yesterday.
The face of the other like a miracle, conviviality like a comfort, the touch like a promise, the spectacle like a journey, the party like a communion.
When the air was mild, young people populated the terraces of our cities, families, on Saturday evening, walked towards the stadium, friends made reservations at the restaurant, a few loners escaped onto the cinema screens.
The dance steps were inconsequential and the deep joy of the reunion happily crossed the barrier of imposed gestures.
Existence had its hassles and sorrows, but it did not depend, by the curse of a virus, on an incidence rate, on the number of cases.
The grim accounting of the number of beds and deaths had not taken hold of our screens, of politics, of our societies, of our lives, of our minds.
The dissolving power of the Covid had not, in addition to assaulting the most fragile bodies, ruined businesses, devastated lives, raised the grandmother
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