I held your hand.
That first sunrise.
As the dust settled.
As the wasteland came to our front door.
They finally dropped the bomb.
The meteor finally hit.
The planet finally quit.
The other shoe finally fell.
Reality finally cracked.
And society innevitably wraught nothing.
And all I really care about... is the endless white powder.
Reflecting unopressively in the dawn.
Mountains.
Dunes.
Fine rubble.
Warmed by the cool morning sun.
It tickles under my toes.
And your hand presses into mine.
I just put my head on your shoulder.
And smile.
"We've finally got a white-sand, beach-front home miss."
Blissfully Stretching out into forever.
Signifying nothing.
Which is everything.
Fresh footprints in the ash,
two sets.
