When the world ends, you will remain. Rooted as an ash, your hair like stringy leaves blowing in the gusts of my endings. I will turn my face up in wonder at the mischief and fun sparkling in your eyes. Seeing you always requires looking up. Stretching skyward. Star-ward. Stretching all my capacity. So I will turn my face up in wonder that, in spite of everything and nothing, you can’t help but smile. Because it’s me. And I will smile back. Because it’s you.