A world

Perhaps I’ll find a world where water flows upwards.

Perhaps I’ll find a world where beings hop from cloud-to-cloud to find home.

Perhaps I’ll find a world where soil is effervescent and the ceilings of our homes are made of wool, arabesque textiles and ice foundations.

Perhaps I’ll find a world with such uneven grounding that falling is just a routine, mundane feat. It’d just be a simple quirk that all common spirits share.

A world, perhaps, I would belong in.

A world so preoccupied with the drifting winds and scattered, harmless rain that companionship was never a requirement. A burden. An artifact.

A world so complex, romantic quarrels and infidelity would be so trivial and unequivocal to the changing tides. A world so gloriously inefficient that hunger was not an isolated problem – everyone would sympathize with starvation and drought. A world where self-evisceration isn’t seized as an opportunity to advance someone’s political and social stature. No wishing you could have done something. No wishing you had said what you wanted to. No bullshit wishing in a bullshit memorial.

Would such a world in such disarray be a world in calamitous peace? A way of unity? The birth of a eschatological world?

Would this be a world where you lived, or a world you died?