The lights fuse all the time. It's just an overload in the circuit or a tiny wire in a bulb breaks, and these old, old electrics in a house with a ghost in the kitchen, and the lights fuse.



She stood me up tonight. I spent so long applying, reapplying mascara, left the house grabbing for my keys, grabbing for my phone, and my hair caught in my mouth. When I got home, after that awkward moment - running into the place, hair still in mouth, keys still in hand, the "o" my lips made in realisation - a tiny wire broke, the lights fused and I was left standing in the hall, in the dark.



There's a ghost in our kitchen. The lights fuse. The TV switches itself on, and I wonder if I’ll ever get tired of making strings of coincidences into ghost stories, wonder if I care enough to stop, because I think I'm falling apart.



I've got such a bad headache. I was stood up. The lights fused.



In the other room, Joey said, "I'm just really, really lonely." And I didn't say anything back to her on the TV. I can't read my own handwriting. I'm going to go eat some fruit. And I think I'm falling apart, just one little bit at a time.



(The lights fuse all the time. It's just an overload in the circuit or a tiny wire in a bulb breaks, and these old, old electrics in a house with a ghost in the kitchen, and the lights fuse.)