My parents still tell stories of the Old Days. They speak to us in whispers when darkness falls and the authorities turn off surveillance for the night. They tell my brother and I about how they used to meet their friends in person and how neighbours would speak to each other over the fence.
It’s something I can’t relate to. I don’t know anything other than online contact; impersonal communication with faceless strangers.
I wish my life was like the Old Days but my dad says we can never go back, only forward. My mum tells me not to wish for something that’s already past.
My brother tells me to keep dreaming and that one day what I wish for will come true.