I used to crave isolation, 

especially in the coldest winter months. I’d Pin 

cabins with roaring fires, hand-sewn quilts, 

a picture window full of snow, and dream about being stuck. 

Away from the noise. 

But the pandemic has brought an unbearable hunger for touch, 

for connection, 

for the sound of living. 

I’ve started rewatching old comfort shows to satiate myself; 

Jersey Shore leaves me feeling full. 

I imagine the smells of brine and taffy on the boardwalk, 

the sounds of the ferris wheel and tilt-a-whirl merging 

into one bright, chaotic jangle. The press and flow of bodies 

radiating coconut oil-heat, 

too much beer, 

too much need. 

I envision living in that house with the roommates, 

expertly flipping 4 a.m.-grilled cheeses and 

arguing over whose turn it is to do the dishes. 

I go to sleep picturing Sunday dinner and feel 

my stomach contract once, 

briefly, 

in anticipation.

Amanda Crum can be followed on Twitter @MandyGCrum.