There’s
something off about all this; talking about death, how he might be lurking the
rooms of the house, that I’m leaving
– like we’re detached, but we’re
all connected in some bizarre, telepathic way
– like we’re all perceptive to
each other.
Like we’re a circle of people scattered across the land, connected
by invisible electric impulses
– like radios.
And between us,
he wanders like electricity from light bulb to light bulb in a series
connection, lighting us one at a time.
I like! Har alltid misunt folk som får til å skrive engelsk tilsynelatende like naturlig som norsk.
SvarSlett