The lights cut. The world collapse into darkness, a split second apocalypse.
Or, you know, a blackout.
Haven’t had one of these in ages. As my eyes adjust, I observe emergency lights across the garden illuminating the stairwells of the opposite block. The hum of the condominium generator starts up. I rummage in the storeroom for flashlights, find two. Empty. I look for batteries now, find some. Wrong size.
Back to the old ways.
Tea candles, bought cheaply in bulk. Two half-used scented candles in glass canisters. The fragrance of milk, honey and narcissus. We bought them together in Melbourne years ago. These are brighter than the tealights, their flames stronger. They give a magical glow to our photo frames as we FaceTime and laugh, our evening catch-up ritual uninterrupted.