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ImpossibilityWe meet before breakfast every morning
just to get my quota out of the way.
She drinks steaming coffee without scalding her tongue,
while I blink the sleep from my eyes, sipping slowly.
Her scent hangs heavy in the air with the perfume
of sunbeams and birdsong
and the success of a thousand hopeless dreams, and
I don't know the colors
of the dress she wears, but I'm told
by the butterflies.
Our conversations are staid and brilliant
and can only be recalled
Her favorite activity
is herding cats,
but perhaps next week
it will be milking rattlesnakes;
Hers is the realm beyond paradox,
where nothing begins
before its own conclusion, and mirrors
only work in the dark.
We converse in our minds
about the state of the anarchy
as I pour another mug
and she thanks me through indifference.
She whispers pi
as she sits, idly tracing a straight line
Last (Edited Draft)There is no one who truly knows how to face the end that lies beyond the end of the world. One day, the seven Moons shine beneath the Sea of Enkre, as they are supposed to, and the next day you find yourself drifting away, your world diminished to a mere fragment of what it used to be. You open your eyes in the light of the Moons, and for a moment you forget about the cataclysm from the night before, or you think everything was just a bad dream. You look at the alabaster walls around you, still intact, and you tell yourself all is as before. You insist there was no Armageddon, no catastrophe, you tell yourself those galaxies, all those people in them, could not have perished. Even as you cast your gaze upward, you assure yourself that your people are safe, but there are only six Moons in the sky.
Time drifts by and the people speak of strange things, of cities of fire looming on the edge of the Sea of Enkre and cliffs of ice standing beside them, and you notice there are only five M
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