Dear Wigleaf,

I write to you from a room where the lights went out more than a week ago. For days, electricians with no answers have paraded through the house. They've brought their multimeters to sense what lies behind each outlet; they have considered opening the walls; they have suggested ultrasounds of the house that will tell them which wires have life, and which have died, and how to bring them back, and the real price of electric light.

But today, there is a new batch of electricians in the house, and they don't want to zap new life into dead wires. Here, finally, is their solution: they will switch off a circuit for the last time and leave whatever has broken inside the walls. They understand how to let something go.

Instead, they will guide the paths of other circuits to the darkened rooms. They are charting these routes through the bones of the house now, finding the detours hidden behind the walls, and nudging the currents along wires they were never meant to travel.

I wish you could be here when they flip the switch, and that we could gaze together, squinting, into some unexpected light.

Yours,
Kara




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Read KO's story.

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