I tell her, I’ve been waiting for the other show to drop
I tell her, I’ve been far too lucky
I tell her, I do not trust this

And I don’t think it’s all that absurd to be afraid. My dreams are rife with despair and resignation, desolation and acceptance, a certain kind of grief that always was, always will be, always expected.

I tell her, this is not sustainable
I tell her, we need to hold it together

And maybe this is the tension, this is the yawning sound, the tinny vibration of something stretching to its limits, that whatever is holding it together is being tugged by a momentum that demands it is thrown apart.

I tell her, we are so close

And perhaps this is the wrong analogy: there are so many moving parts that I imagine it to be a centrifuge when it might be better understood as a house of cards, that this issue is gravity.

But he remains silent

I look for him over my shoulder and he’s there, always there
He looks down at me slowly, quietly says, it will come. it will all end
He raises his head and looks off to the horizon
But not now, he says, not now