had a bad dream. the sins of the forced fathers rained down upon the illegitimate children. we had met their reckoning. but there were no sirens. not like in the movies. it came out of the blue, on a pleasant autumn saturday. my girl and i were doing what we do, drinking wine, showboating, silently competing, genuinely laughing. being girls. beautiful young women, not needing any man. seeking one anyway.
i saw it before i felt it, but i felt it first. three rockets, quick succession, launching in reverse, descending across the skyline and landing right in the city i called home. it’s not home, but home left. i still have your message on my whiteboard. anyway. i saw the shard, then the gherkin, then the bridge all collapse, and brown water turn grey. it was suppressed, like in the movies, submerged in a reality to far from real and incepting, concepting, realising, all in slow motion. then i heard the screams.
dreams do what dreams do and stop motion blurs ensued, news articles, frantic people, deciding who to hate, who to blame. politicians disappearing, general drilling of misinformation, chaos, terror, confusion, narcissists recruiting for war, voices increasing in volume, speaking over eachother, as if they could control the unexpected, as if they could move the people, as if it would stop it from already being done.
the second time, we expected it. we’d already seen what we needed to see and this time… this time i saw it before i felt it. we ran, in slow motion, through molassess, going nowhere but needing to not stay still. not to surrender. not to welcome that we were going to die.
The last thing I did was text you “I love you”.
when i woke up, i remember you still weren’t there.
i won’t say the world has already ended. but… you aren’t there.