The postcard.

'us' never had a beginning and thus has no ending. it might as well be infinite for all we know. 'us' lives in every word we've said to each other, and the ones we kept to ourselves. we've created our own universe, we ruled it and it consumed us the same way that wax melts when the candle is burning.

the brightest of the lights exploded and bestowed destruction upon 'us'. but isn't the  nuclear mushroom cloud as well beautiful in its perfect shape, while its outcome deafening and lethal?

actually, all i wanted to write is that i wish i could have remembered your address and sent you the stupid postcard:

"Es tan corto el amor, y es tan largo el olvido" pablo neruda.