If the end of the world comes sooner than we originally planned. If the Mayans are correct. If everything combusts. If we're suddenly frozen in ice, or burnt alive in pits of fire. If we disappear suddenly, like we were sucked into a place of no return. If the wild horses run from the pages of the bible, and nash their teeth, and pull us to a place where we see only black. If there is nothing left to see.
I hope I spend the end of it somewhere important. With you. At a pretty lookout. Or by the fire. Or curled up somewhere safe. Where I know, that even if the world's on fire, I'm okay.
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