She says to herself, "This must be how it feels to be on the brink of blindness."
The candle on the open windowsill in an otherwise dark bedroom, it flickers, going from bright to dim and back again in a fraction of a second, over and over, blinks on and then almost off again – over and over, back and forth, this is how it goes.  Never a break, never a long stretch of lightness, just up and down and up and down again.
"This must be how it feels to be on the brink of blindness."
The cast-long shadow of the plastic chandelier, bent across the ceiling, also flickers.  Watching, it does not only dim and brighten – the sharp black brightness dimming to a dying grey 0 but it jumps and bends, from left to right, or up and down, she can't tell.  She watches it shift, she watches it strengthen to black and whimper to grey and back around.  Makes her dizzy, like a rusty rollercoaster ride at the fair, the one that flips up and down while spinning on its axis and the shadow makes her dizzy and the shadow makes her sick -
"This must be how it feels to be on the brink of blindness."
The rollercoaster candle-flicker shadow chandelier is swallowed by a film over her eyes.  The back of her eyelids.  She closes her eyes, tries to regain herself, but still – still! - there is a constant shift.  The thin skin over her spinning eyes can only block out so much, she can still see the light to dark to light to dark flick flick flick candle on the windowsill, so fast and so sporadic she wants to cry -
"This must be how it feels to be on the brink of blindness."
She opens her eyes now and looks down; a mountain range of beauty – the sharp peak of a jaw, the valley of a neckline, the rolling hills of shoulders flowing into hips and thighs.  Love, a lovely landscape; and she watches the candlelight rise and set like sunny days and warm nights running quick – a clock with hands spinning at lightning speeds, calendars crossing out days faster than Mercury circling the sun.  This bizarre race of time, all played out in candle flickers across skin, light to dark and back and around in circles again and again, hits hard to her head and chest.  She's losing time!  Days turned into seconds, this landscape will disappear – she will disappear, she will die and she will rot and she will not be able to watch sunrises and sunsets stretch across his chest!  She is losing time, she is losing this, she is losing him she is losing love she is losing everything with every flicker of that fucking candle it is all going to end and she wants to cling and she wants to scream and she wants to cry out --
"Dear god, keep me from blindness, keep me from the end!"
But instead --
Instead she rolls over close, buries her face in the absolute black of her closed eyes, shielded by the indent of his drained-river spine, breathes in deep, holds on tight, and leaves everything to touch.