Bridge over troubled water

I couldn’t fight the wind anymore. The wind, more like a tornado. Babies flying over the bridge, the river showing colors never seen before. Waves, actual waves, right in the middle of the untouchable city. Seagulls unable to fly in straight line. And a Stabat Mater playing somewhere in the distance. At this exact moment, I know we are doomed. Trash cans rolling on the street. Segways spinning like in outer space. Cars piling up right in front me. And uptown, not that far away, it was pitch black already. A monstrous vortex. The end.

But today, it’s sunny again, almost spring, as if nothing ever happened. But I know something happened. Sunday afternoon, people walk as if it’s summer again. As if it’s ever going to be summer again. I feel the sun on my skin. Shiny and hot. Intense. I take it all in, like that time in Oslo, or was it Brooklyn, on August the 31st. But when I look at the sun, I see a subtle mist, harbinger of catastrophe.

Could be the apocalypse. Could be something else.

But when you come knocking, and you will come, I’ll be there waiting for you. Not in a survivalist kind of way. I won’t be waiting with rations, gallons of purified water and guns. I’ll be waiting quietly, cause I’ve been waiting for you a long time. And you’ll be chaos and finitude and so much more. you’ll be everything I’ve ever wanted.


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