It's the day before the end of the world and the sky is raging.
It's the day before the end of the world and I can taste our mortality, our finiteness, our impermanence, lingering in the air like dust and a gray shadow that blocks the sun and filters the light.
It's the day before the end of the world and we have already proven that our light and childhood are not immune to pain and heartbreak, and we are not immune to the passage of time. You were my own personal Neverland, but Wendy had to face her future eventually and I've seen you grow up in front of my eyes. Not even Peter Pan can fend off goodbye.
But I'll always believe in you.
And I'll always love you and your limitless soul.
So hold me tighter and let's spend our last night of pretend postponing the end and leaving a trail of poetry like a fingerprint on every surface that we touch, a tangible reminder that we were here and that we were bright and beautiful.
But our summer is spent and all I can do is pray that I won't be forgotten, that your phone calls and weekend visits won't ever stop coming, and that our clumsy, scrawling poetry will be enough to hold us together. You told me this was never-ending and I believe you. You told me we would never run out of ink and I still believe that as long as the sun and the moon keep switching places in the sky, we're gonna be alright.
It's the day before the end of the world and I'm afraid to die.
It's the day before the end of the world and I'm begging you to never let me go.
