Maybe we’ll bring disco back. Or, at the very least, ironic disco,
because we all know our attempts to resurrect the 70s would
make a mockery out of a cultural revolution. Maybe we’ll go
outside more. Hike the waterfalls we kept procrastinating, kiss
in the woods like suburban teenagers desperate for any variety
of escape, sleep under the stars in too-small tents. We’ll make
public displays of affection in vogue again. We’ll start dancing
with our hair down, really dancing, like it’s 1969 and we are
the counterculture generation, so intertwined we appear to be
one breathing body. Maybe we’ll learn to hug our loved ones
goodbye: before catching that red-eye flight, in the aftermath
of heated arguments, when they leave for work in the morning,
every morning. No excuses, no forgetting, none of it for granted.

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