He puts his head on my lap and sighs.
Never before did he feel this way about anyone, anything,
Save for his brother, who he claimed to do all this for,
But now he's not so sure.
I sit in silence and rock the swinging bench gently,
I feel like if I blink I'll miss it.
I run my fingers through his hair like I'm running them across the
world.
He doesn't say anything.
Tonight, the world will burn up.
It will go out in a white-hot flame, and there will be nothing left,
Nothing except for the sand which will turn into molten glass.
But there won't be any clarity. Just sorrow.
Finally, he asks me why I stayed behind with him,
Despite everything. Despite the fact
He killed everyone else.
"I don't have anywhere else to be," I reply.
And it's true. No work, no people,
And no tomorrow, either.
His body trembles a little.
"Are you afraid of the end?" I ask.
He nods a bit.
"Don't worry," I reply. "You and I are probably going to Hell,
So at least you won't be alone."
He doesn't respond to this.
I leave him be and look out to the sandy landscape.
The suns are setting under the horizon
And the end of the world is near.
"Do you have anything else you wish you could say?"
He shakes his head.
"Well, here's all I'll say.
Next time, I'll find you faster.
I'll find you and when I do,
I will grab you and hold you tight
And I will tell you, please, please,
Don't shut us out.
And I just hope you will hear me."
And I stop, and I smell smoke in the air.
"It might seem selfish to say now,
But I love you. Tomorrow will be a good day."
He takes in a shaky breath,
Says I love you, too,
And the explosion of the day of wrath
Envelops us in a volcanic embrace.