The end of the world is trending on Twitter. The beautiful days outnumber the gloomy ones. Heat waves in the north. Towns flood in the west. Things seem to be working out in my personal life for once. I have a job I don’t hate. I got out of bed by 8 AM. I stopped ending relationships over text. I survived a pandemic. My friend and brother who didn’t didn’t die by a virus. (By themselves.) A bad guy with a gun thrill killed a police officer outside the park where my sister plays. A good guy with a gun killed the bad guy then got killed by police officers when they mistook him. My screen time is down by 27%. A hospital burned. A building collapsed. A snail narrowly avoided mass extinction. The animals we worried about as kids are out of danger. Half the ones we’ve never heard of are gone forever now. When I meditate I feel like it will all be okay. When I check my phone first thing in the morning I stress about the new HBO show’s release date. Fake money is worth ten thousand times more than the real deal. I have none of either. Songs on the radio say the end is here and fuck the guy who broke my heart. I like them more than the songs from ten years ago. People no longer care about politics. The sun beats down through the melted ozone. Toxins are approved by health departments for public use. States are outlawing racial equality and education. Instagram cat videos are still cute. TV keeps getting better and better. A billion of us spend our days scrolling infinitely. Crashed ocean liners set the water on fire. Garbage makes islands. Coral reefs asphyxiate. I’ve resigned myself to not seeing the world and maybe not having one for much longer. Instead I see what’s in front of me. A loved one. Some blue lights. Being. A shooting star might be a UFO or an airplane or a comet coming to end it all. I leave my phone inside uncharged. I step outside to watch it.