Ten Years Ago

The End of the World

It was always there, that feeling, not doubt
or pain, just that feeling, that sooner or
later, lights will turn red, a stop sign will
appear, the world will end. I denied it,

fought it, seduced it, tried to kill it,
searched for its weakness, some way to
destroy it, via emotion, logic, force,
passive aggression... Nothing worked.

We can’t stop entropy, but we can slow it
down. So we stave it off as best we can,
with kisses and smiles beneath red giant
sunsets, massaging tired muscles each night,

sleeping tightly wrapped in each other’s
arms. We’ll sing love songs, feast on wine
and chocolates, enjoying the time we have,
reinforcing our foundations as needed.

Like working in a hospice, a friend once
said. Giving everything we’ve got to save
something already dying. “Dying’s not dead,”
I said. Still: what are we trying to save?

Is love some conscious, living entity? Does
quality of life - or love - matter more than
love itself? We hook up dying people to
machines, force oxygen in their lungs, flash

lights into glassy eyes, desperately keeping
them alive, begging them not to leave us yet,
even after 80 or 90 years of goodness on this
earth. Aren’t some tired, unafraid, ready to

die? It seems the same with love. This love
of ours, tired, old, broken and repaired many
times... we can’t let it go. A body dies,
but love lives forever. So it is with love;

when love dies, the body lives on. I wonder
which is sadder, living people, devoid of
love, or loving people, bereft of their
beloved? Which pain lasts longer, which

survivors live better, and when they die,
will it make a difference... Over time,
survivors heal, and perhaps, in some
afterlife, they see those they loved again.

But when no one dies, and we stop loving,
what have we to look forward to? So it is
better to die in love, than to live
loveless... My head is swimming, my heart

aches... Somehow we knew our love would die
someday, just as we knew my cat would die,
and your plant would die, and there was
nothing we could do to stop it. Even now I

weep for it, our love, for all of them, my
Tomcat, your little seeds, my grandfather,
all those I desperately wanted to stay, but
had to let go. But you, my love - you are

not dying. I will not give up yet. If our
love must die, I want us to die with it, as
we sleep, in each other’s arms, my head on
your chest. Until that time I will work, with

tape and superglue and flowers and paint,
breathing life into us, singing songs,
watching you sleep, making the most of each
fleeting moment. If we tire, we will rest.

We will solve every puzzle, and hand in hand
we will go on, as far as we can, for it is
all I can do to ease my pain.