There are more Raptures in heaven and Earth, Horatio,
than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
If you think, Horatio,
that the end of the world happens once,
and only once,
then you are distracted by the bang and ignoring the whimper.
If you hope, dear Horatio,
that there is just that one rough beast,
slouching toward Bethlehem,
and only Bethlehem,
I beg you to hurl that hope into the fireplace like the luxury that it is.
The world ends everyday, every minute, everywhere.
In towers that fall to the pavement like rain;
in the remains of our loved ones smudging nearby windows
and the remains of strangers
fertilizing the soil of the people who watched them die;
in poverty and loneliness and solitary suffering;
in our earshot.
The world ends and ends over and over again, Horatio.
And we’re still here waiting for it.