Moodboard for the End of the World (and Also Maybe the Beginning)

The sky caught fire

and no one screamed

just stared,

as if the apocalypse were

a matinee.

I didn’t run.

I bought popcorn.

I wrote things down.

A figure in white

stood among daisies

beneath a god-shaped drone.

They didn’t beg.

Just waited.

Not for rescue

but for recognition.

The cities grew tall

and sharp

and crystal.

Beautiful. Cold.

Like someone forgot

to ask if hearts

could live there.

A woman in a pressed dress

sipped cola beside a swimming pool

while the world turned to ash behind her.

I loved her for that.

Not for her numbness,

but for her posture.

How she dared to lean

on something

still green.

And then

two girls ran through ocean shallows

beneath tulips the size of cathedrals.

Laughing.

Skirts soaked.

Whole mountains

watching them with awe.

They didn’t know

what year it was.

Only that the water was warm

and the sky

hadn’t fallen

yet.

Hope isn’t light.

It’s not easy or clean.

It’s the heaviness you carry anyway

because something inside you

still insists

on touching the world

before it ends.