The world is ending
I'm having dinner with someone. While she's talking to me, I stop and look at her face. Each part of her face has its own personality. When she's happy, her eyes sparkle, and creases form on her nose in a certain way. When she's hurt, her eyes and nose try to move closer to one another. I wonder if I could decipher her emotions just by looking at her nose. All the time that we spent together, where was I looking? I realize I have been staring blankly for too long. I only hear the end of what she said, and I quickly form a remark based on that. "Sometimes, when I'm talking to you, it feels like I'm conversing with a robot." I do feel like a robot sometimes, like a boat in a river getting tossed around by the waves. Sometimes, no matter how hard I paddle, I have to submit to the waves. No matter how hard I try to preserve this moment, I will have to let it get washed away—the world is ending soon. A few days ago, two people dressed like saints from a