THE END OF THE WORLD
It’s a privilege to die in the end of the world. We are the last generation of humans. The evolution has come to us. After we’re gone there will be nothing left. A perfect death for control freaks.
I look up into the sky. It’s a peaceful sunny day. I always knew it would be in the summertime. The beginning of endless summer. Up there on one of the balconies a woman is slowly hanging laundry. Optimism or stupidity, I wonder. Or perhaps the greatest wisdom.
Freedom from consequences is in the air, but to few of us it makes no real difference. We know the consequences of an act are not in the future, they are intrinsic to the act itself. What comes later are just reflections in reality of our state of mind. True consequences are momentary.
I wonder where you are. I know that you’re perfectly calm. And I know now that I never really needed anything more than that. I like to imagine we’ll die in the exact same moment. As one.
There’s nothing left to do except hope for a spectacular view. I’m texting my photographer friend: “Are you going to shoot it?”. “Isn’t it a bit pointless?” he replies. And I think to myself: “As pointless as it ever was.”