conversations while the world ends. conversationalist at the end of the world. the end of the world in a conversation.
i watched the sky turn black and the air turn cold. lighting bolted and thunder clouds clapped. and rain rained and the sky turned red. on a bench, under an over-hang. flinging cigarettes with gesturing hands. walk home, ride home, read all the way home.
yes, i would burn myself again. no, i would not burn you. wait. wait for me?
maybe. i would. then.
does this make any sense. and i hate when life turns into a movie. or every thing turns literary.
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