The pandemic felt like a masquerade, a strange kind of theater or a B-movie. Rules came down like stage directions—stand here, don’t touch that, stay home, wait—and we followed them, not always knowing why, just... because. It felt like theater, but not the kind you clap for at the end. Days looping, one into another, slow and slippery. The world got quiet. Planes stopped flying. Cities emptied like they'd been evacuated for good. People vanished into little boxes on screens, their voices breaking, their faces pixelating. You try to keep busy or care, but the news keeps coming, and it all starts to blur. Some people get angry, some fade. The sky looked clearer; birds were louder. Waters moved like they remembered how. The world felt like it was finally breathing without us—it was relieved, and for a brief while, had a future again.