the clouds must be tired, what makes you think that? because the rain fall is heaviest. it’s thundering against the roof, pounding across the soul. it’s beautiful, isn’t it? you think in peculiar ways, but i can see how you think that. yes, it is beautiful. do you ever dream of the world’s final breath? do i dream of the end of the world? it’s macabre, but beautiful in a way, you can agree? i suppose i can see the beauty you dream. then can i paint you a scene? of the end of the world? yes, it’ll be beautiful. just close your eyes, let me paint upon your mind. paint away then, just mind the ridges. it rains heavy-true outside, thunder rumbles the bone, lightning brightens the darkened skies. you sit upon a kindly chair, rocking back and forth within your home. a home you built from the foundation. drowned in memories of life, joy, envy, anger, love. the Earth beneath sighs, the Terra Firma— Terra Firma? firm land, now close your eyes, my scene isn’t yet painted and i can’t have my canvas forget. continue then, my kindly painter. the Earth beneath sighs, the Terra Firma has grown weak. soaked by the endless torrent, across the globe is endless rain. you creak along in your chair, you know not much time remains, until the earth is drowned in the final ocean. how old am i in this painting? old enough to creak along, you have time for very little. the rain batters outside, harsher then before. the ending is upon your soul, yet you know you have time. time for one final action. my final action? will i die right after doing it? i don’t think so, but you won’t have time for anything else. only this final choice. how much time do i have for this “final action”? no longer then a day, the rain is getting heavier by the hour. then, i think i know what i would do. would you be wish to hear my song? never have i denied your chirps, sing away your song, my kindly canvas upon my creaking chair i would gather those who drowned my home in kindness and joy, anger and envy, those who filled it with the love of life. i would bring them close, and whisper to each my love eternal. i would ensure that those who made me would hear my voice one last time, before all is washed away in your final ocean. you render a lovely finale. i try my best to. now, what would you do with your own final action? i never thought that far ahead though i can try to dream an answer. then dream away. i’d rise from my worn chair, my bones creaking to the storm’s rhythm. i’d lumber my way to the battered window, taking in the storm, though still through a barrier. and once i had seen enough, i’d limp to the door, and walk out into the rain. and once in the storm’s embrace i would reach out my arms, and… … and? i think… I would dance.
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