Three years. Three years since you fell ill and the dark, unmentionable fear that this might not be just a virus, started forming in the pits of our stomachs. The hope, the indignant “well surely something can be done,” began ebbing away rapidly. It wasn’t going anywhere, we didn’t know it’d get worse, we couldn’t even contemplate that three years on we’d be in the exact same position we were then, only more scared, and so, so tired of all of it. I’ll admit, even now, I struggle to see as you as someone who is ill. You and your illness, in my mind, are two different entities, even when whatever you do is affected by your illness, and your illness affects everything you do. I don’t know if it’s wrong or right of me to think like that, maybe it’s complete, blind denial. I just don’t know anymore and I’m losing my ability to second guess everything.