Our Love Causes Outages

Anne Magill.

I think, something happens when, in a crowded world (which always forgets it can stop), my eyes hop restlessly from one rushing face to another and rest, finally, at yours, comforted, that you had held me in your gaze — safe — all this while.

I think, that is when, for me, the world dips itself into its own shadow, like there is an electrical outage, and I can only see you: you, like a firefly — a soft, tiny, luminous freckle in the dark alienness — holding a light that guides me back home. Always.



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