The Future is Dead

I miss the sunlight touching my skin. I miss feeling like I have one,
instead of a walking carcass. Anyway, I miss the soft touch of my friends' hugs.
I miss many things that I never thought I'd once miss.
Mostly, I miss the person I was
before we were struck by a sanitary disaster of catastrophic proportions.
But, in all honesty, when did I ever not forget the person I once was?

I still have not figured out why I have grown such an aversion to crowds. And people.
I don't know if it is because many have shown their true colors
or because crowds now mean a higher chance of contamination.
Perhaps, I have now gotten used to being alone.
Or maybe I now need the protection of a screen or a black square
to be able to speak comfortably or freely be completely silent.

What is the future, now? Even more uncertainty?
Or maybe a mere illusion, an oasis in the minds' arid deserts.
How can our young, hopeful, and naive eyes shine with hope?
To us, sons, daughters, and children of the past generations,
all we have left are sorrow, war, famine, hopelessness, a new disease.
What has menkind done to the rest of the world?