The World Keeps Ending, and the World Goes On

by Franny Choi

Like everyone else, I want a storm I can dance in. I want an excuse to change my life.

This sense of impending catastrophe is an illusion, however, because the trauma never quite arrives. It never arrives because it has already happened.

This weight will tether. You can come back up again. The faithfulness of gravity, of morning sounds. If only you’ll stay.

I miss you like I miss the trees.

I want to be nothing,