Of All The Stories I've Written, I Share With You, Stranger, These Few

On The Bank of the River

Sitting on the bank of the river,
we watched the world end.
The sky more yellow
than your favorite vintage books.
The water a sickly warm
that crawled up our legs and refused to soak in.
We had stripped to just our underthings,
the air too hot for anything else.
Under different circumstances, we would have hesitated showing so much skin in public.
But the world was ending,
so why should anybody care?

You took my hand, smiling as you whispered "I love you" for the first time in our lives.
I leaned in close to you,
and in the softest voice I could muster,
I gifted you those same words.

And despite the screams we could still hear erupting from town,
it was the most intimate moment in the world.

The sky grew darker,
and it was like a countdown had begun in our heads.

It wouldn't be long now.
Might as well live.
I pulled you to your feet,
dragging you into the river,
laughing as you splashed the ugly-feeling water.

Up in the dying sky, a bird flew around our heads.
I wondered why this bird refused to find safety,
I wondered if,
similar to us,
it chose to finish its life
with a memorable final chapter.

Then you kissed me,
inhaling my life,
exhaling yours.
You kissed me,
and I kissed you.

And if those angry with our world saw us,
they just might have ceased their vengeance.

But the world was ending,
and they didn't care,
so why should anyone else?