I Will Miss You When You Are Gone
My friend cuts herself, and tells me a story about the end of the world.
When the world was created, it had all the love there was ever going to be. Love was tangled up in everything. It stuck in the trees, littered the ground like leaves, clogged people’s drains. There was so much love that it became a nuisance. People would burn it, bury it, spray for it. They would shovel great big buckets of it to the side of the road. Love was like bad weather to them. At the beginning of time, love was heavy snow.
As people burned and ate and buried love, there became less of it. It faded with time, and so people grew apart. Some people saw it fading, and hoarded it, and they had more love than others. When it was finally almost gone, everyone had gotten so used to it that no one wanted to be without it, so they began to kill each other. Less people would mean more love left for those still alive. This was why love was created in the first place: to kill everyone.
My friend cuts herself and tells me that there’s barely any real love left today, and her blood drips into the salty sea. She tells me that there is plenty of sex and stumbles and meaningless comfortable relationships, but true love is a rare and unusual and dangerous thing, eager to destroy us all with our hunger for it. Sometimes the love is locked in a vault. Sometimes it is buried in a cave. Sometimes it is high above the earth, frozen in a mountain glacier and guarded by a troupe of opera-singing yetis who wear bowties. She says the love that’s left won’t last forever, and that we could run out of it any day now. When the last of the love fades away, then it is Judgment Day.
The End is Near.