As the wind swept through the streets outside, I spent a few hours watching compilations on YouTube of car crashes and shit like that. Each time I reckoned someone had died in a wreck, I imagined what it must’ve been like. That final moment. Those last few seconds. The dashcams showed vehicles flipped into the air before crashing down onto the hood of oncoming cars, obliterating those within. They gave me an insight into what it must be like to stare death in the face, to know that the next breath will be your last, but then I got bored and imagined bombing the universe. All those billions upon trillions of galaxies simultaneously igniting. All those untold light years just hanging around in her belly ready to erupt while she showers trying not to think about those having more fun than her. As I’m chasing supernovas, she’s sniffing leaves in the garden wishing she could be like them. She’s making love to nature and slipping through the layers while I’m in a supervoid just happy to be by myself. All those dead stars that have been and gone without us ever knowing of their demise. All those lives that have passed while we were in darkness, the same darkness that’s waiting for our return with open arms. Here for a while, and then absolutely nothing, forever. Jesus, what a ride. Lighting a smoke, the idea of not being here is both terrifying and joyous, I just wish I could be around when it came to a close. If only I were a dream, or a cloud of dust destined to hang in the sky until the end of time. Drifting around in a bubble far, far away from mankind, I imagine fucking her while she’s wearing just those shiny shoes of hers. And maybe some cute white socks, too. The shoes will have little bows on them, and when I wipe my head on her chest and lick the outlines of her tattoos, the stars in her belly will explode in celebration of our ritual act.