When you're haunted by any variety of effective nonsense, like love or guilt or poetry or memory, which are anyway at their bitter root the same thing--the primary symptom is paralysis. You just can't move.
Then, all too rarely, the virus is vanquished, the contagion concluded, the spell is broken, the cold front snaps in prismatic splinters. Bright moment, that, and bright moment, next, and so on and so forth. What returns is a sense of the present tense as being not only available, but valid.
Gregory Maguire, Lost
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