The moon was so full that it drowned the picture window that floated above the couch. There was nothing left but light and emptiness and a curious, unsung joy.
Full moon coming back on my birthday. I’m locking myself in your bomb shelter.
They found us two days ago. Not much left but the idea of something having happened. Nothing bad. Nothing good. Mostly ordinary, boring things.
Imagine the cave dwellers posing for Polaroid snapshots. That’s the message that we tried to convey as we prodded the empty spaces between their pauses.
Sometimes they looked up, as if sensing our presence. Mostly they kept to themselves. Ignoring entirely the flashes of unexpected light. Our curious, unsung joy.