When the world falls apart, and all that is left behind are charred bushes and ironic, blown over street signs and cats catapulting off of slumped over rooftops, it will be bearable if we are together. We would tackle the urban terrain like modern day Survivors and you would gather Pringles and dried fruit and keep me away from dangerous others—like gun-crazy hillbillies and politicians and bears. You will have a trusty survival guide and will teach us both how to siphon gas and live peacefully in the wilderness. It will be hard, but fun because the joy of life is in your music and my words and all the stories between us.
I wake up from scraped up dreams all ice ages and cavemen and poodle-sized mosquitoes and wonder if we were sent to that time and place, would our love survive or would we succumb to tribal roles and vicious meat battles? I think you would amaze the cavepeople with your not-so-cavelike drawings, and tell them about the future and all of the history that lies between them and us—Roman intrigue and Chinese dynasties and Hollywood. They will think you are God or the Devil or least an Alien— in any case, they will be scared and give us pelts and whatever kind of jerky there is and we will leave and be together. And on their cave walls are cartoon strips and recipes and poetry and reasons why women should not be dragged.
The world is a fragile place, and for all of our sensitivities and causes, you would think that it would chew up and spit out people like us. But we are the ones who will survive. We are not Rooms-to-Go and 401Ks and Outback Steakhouse. Home is where we are, with our dog and cat pack, which we will have to protect because they can’t fend for themselves. Perhaps we think we are like them—once wolves and bobcats, now soft and finicky. No. We are not “once human.” Our love makes us strong—Oscar-winning, best-scene-ever strong. If we were POWs and were separated, I would not betray you. I would not believe their lies or their chocolates or their moment-of-weakness humanity. Whoever believes that our bodies are all there is has never believed love of God or person.
And if our injured country goes the way of Hoovervilles and soggy socked misery, our joys will be found in candlelight moments, and the sudden release– like humanity’s smile– in the need to hug and cling more than usual. Funny thing is, you give yourself to me, every single day, as though the world may very well fall apart.