I know the sea will dry up
eventually, I mean
as all things
I learned about it from an Asimov story:
entropy is a slow crawling bulldozer
and if you give it enough time
it will consume everything
I have a treasure chest where I keep important things
I checked it the other day and a flower I had kept
turned into dust:
micro-entropy at its finest
The house I loved now has walls that are dark with mold
the doors creaking promise to soon be shut forever
the plants that would once frame its face
have enclosed it into a humid dome
roots forcing themselves into the floorboards
tearing their way apart
(nature has a nice way of taking its territory back
but even that will die, too)
The skin on my hands is wrinkly
I have trouble sleeping
anxiety-fueled bruxism
a hard time recovering from hangovers
And yet
every day
when I'm driving, or walking
when I'm silent with myself or others
I hear your words
They haven't gone away, if anything
I remember them with terrifying precision
so much that I can't help myself from quietly mouthing them
like prayer
entropy is not doing its job with this one
but i suppose they won't live forever
if i disappear first