Do you know how everything is still just before thunderheads make the rains fall from the sky? How all animals stop and watch or scurry for their homes? How birds stop singing, and people run for cover from something as harmless as a few drops of water. That is what I feel at this moment, calm before a storm. How the tides of the ocean are calm and then rise as the winds heave waves onto a sandy beach. That is what I feel as I look at you and you gaze into my eyes. You are pleading to know me, pleading to know the thoughts that roam through my mind. You smile as I open my mouth to speak "You want me to open up to you? You want to know me for me, in a way most people do not?" Your grin widens, you obviously can't see my sadness as I softly mutter my words.

My thoughts sparsely wander as I think of what to say to you;

Should I tell you what bothers me in the night, and what I am fearfully passionate about? Or should I tell you those little things that make me giggle and squeal with excitement? Would both scare you away?

My lips move as words hesitantly fall out of  my mouth, "Okay, I will."

You look over to me on our spot on a park bench, your face contorts a little as if you are concerned for me. You always are and you should be. I begin to speak, I let the words flow out of my mouth like a rusty faucet that refuses to turn off after being used, "The world right now is dying, I can feel it. I can feel it in the air as I walk outside the door." You look shocked as I wave my hand through the air;

No. You don't need to do this. I let the thought drift by and I continue.

"The air that used to be crisp or warm, now just feels still. I don't often feel the warmth of a breeze on my face anymore, but when I do it burns; it burns like a fire. Though, it is not a fire that we curl ourselves in front of on a cold winter night as a warm mug of cocoa seeps into our bodies slowly like the snow gently falls outside. It is not a fire where we listen to the crackle and pop of burning hickory as you sing to summer's midnight sky nestled up against my warming body. No, rather it is like a burning city, a city of crisping flesh and memory. The burning of memorabilia from a night on the beach after a difficult breakup."

"Did you burn those photos of us during our break?" You ask hesitantly and I slowly nod in return.

My eyes drift to a preening robin perched quietly in the branches of a nearby maple, "The world is dying; I can feel it when the birds sing, and when their songs stop as abruptly as they began." I let out a breath only to inhale the heavy outside air once again, "How come so many birds come to the bird feeder outside our kitchen window? Is it the only one? Or was their home was destroyed by us?" I pause, "No, not you and me, but humans. All humans while we hurt an existence that was not ours, to begin with." I stop talking letting my words disperse into the evening light.

You take the chance to speak in the silence, "Why are you like this? You do not need to always put a wall around yourself. I'd never..." You tell me, your voice trailing off as put your hand on my shoulder.

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"I bottle up because the world is already dying. Why should I add to its brokenness? I can sense that it is passing its last breaths when the smell of rain reaches my nose. It doesn't smell sweet anymore. It only smells of the mustiness of rotting wood and the burning coast that is a thirty-two-hour car ride away." I look at you again, your expression has changed now your eyes are like mine; sad and distant.

A couple sits on stone steps a few paces away, the women have their arms around each other as they sob, "The world is dying. People die every day, but not like this. Homes burn down every day, but not like they are doing so now." I shift my legs towards you, "Imagine, standing in the street in front of your childhood home where you grew up. Just standing there watching red flames billow out of your old window on the second story. But, all you can do is stand there like in your nightmares. No pleading for help, no screaming, never dropping your gaze, forever watching. That is what is happening in the world right now, a person, like you and me,  is standing on their street watching their world burn. Their world, their house, our world. It is crumbling like the remains of an old house, no longer able to be lived in. And you know what we are doing?" I pause, even though it was a question not to be answered.

"No." You respond, helplessly.

"Humanity is watching, silently watching. While the world burns on the screens of our phones or from the couch as we watch the five o'clock news as it says 'Another man dead; another hoax-party infects hundreds.'"

You pull out your phone as a notification vibrates in your pocket, a text pops up on the screen from your sister; They still haven't arrested the murderers.

I continue after you click the off-button, "A double-tap on a phone screen isn't going to save a life, just like a double-tap to the chest can not heal. A double-tap to the heart will kill a person. A double-tap on your Instagram feed kills everyone if you only sigh as you scroll to the next picture of a burning city, to the next post of someone saying they lost a loved one to the virus still no one believes in." You take in a long deep breath. Mint stabs the acrid air between us.

"No one believes it is true until their grandparents, their mother, and father are holding their hands as they slip from them. As their loved ones wait on their deathbed to have the pain of this world wash off of them for the very first time."

You squeeze my hand, it feels cold on my skin. Glancing up from my lap, I squeeze yours back, "I am grateful to be surrounded by love, you know. I am grateful to have arms to fall into while not enough people will to help fix our world. Like all of our fates aren't the same and we can wait until we are all knocking on hell's door." 

You sit there silently for a moment, watching the bird fly from its nest. The words "I am sorry." drive into me as if you can't do anything to help. I sit upright, my shoulder heavier than when I began listening for your voice to say more than meaningless words, nothing.

"If you are sorry, help to fix it." I look at your messy hair and tired eyes as I stand to leave. I can't listen to the latter part of this conversation, and I know you shouldn't either.

You let me walk away thinking; our existence is not permanent, nothing is.