A picture appeared on the screen, a reminder of days past, an unexpected punch in the gut. Didn't the sunlight look brighter, didn't your eyes seem clearer? Reminders of your strength, of how you built and dragged yourself across coals, across oceans. A whole life has come and gone between. When he looks at you with bright lights in his eyes you don't know how to tell him the bulbs seem to have gone out in yours.
In the middle of the night, I wake to the sound of unexpected proximity. A man climbs the fire escape outside your open window, unfazed by your revolt. You lie awake for an hour, staring at the full moon and wondering at signs. The man climbs back down, jumps onto the street, walks away. I fall back asleep.
You wonder where people find the switch
to turn the light back on.
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