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We will hide away in houses full of light when the storm comes and the sea licks at the shingles. I truly mean homes shot through with beams of hot soft light, arcing and sparking askance. Everyone will float a few inches off the ground like dust motes, filtering the light and making coronas and drinking it all in. When the storm really hits, I will be twisting my body around a splinter of light, trying to remember where words come from. |