we face the destruction. we face the end of all things. we face the falling stars and burning atmosphere with tears of joy, for its together that we face our eternal life. stone statues crumble, fortresses are toppled, the powers that be are no longer anything but meek crickets chirping the final song heard among the bombs, the gunfire, the four horsemen. this is it now.
i will always come back to you. in the end, everything is for you.
some say the old truism of a soulmate is the soul's recognition of its counterpoint in another. long grown out of these fairy tales and legends, i cannot place faith into these precocious dreams, whispered to children pre-war, the age of white-laced innocence as opposed to the violent hand lady fortuna deals with apathy.
but what is this magnetic field that still exists, pulling me back, back into the sea from where i came, back to where you'll always find me. the tides inside of me churn in opposition, between what is right and what is real, but you're clouding up my mind with all the miracle that you are.
hurdling towards the darkening of the earth, the descent into abiding winter, i see my peace. i see montana skies on cold mornings, i see summer breeze rushing through a car with open windows, i see golden wheat fields stretching for ages, i see endless sky. i see first snows, i see cerulean water at my feet, i see fireworks, i see what lies beyond those western mountains. i see cigarettes burning, i see the old porch swing. i see my child, i see my promises, i see red rivers flowing with no sign of ceasing.
but most of all, i see you. i see you, and i feel you, and i smell you, and i taste you, and i know you, and your hand stays in mine, as we enter this infinite sleep upon wings of the world's dying breath. my dying breath. i see lights.
your hand in mine.