One day,
the last lie will be told—
not in triumph of truth,
but for lack of anyone left
to believe.
We imagine the end
in fire, in flood,
in the screech of systems failing—
but it may arrive
as symmetry,
quiet as snow,
perfect
as a solved equation.
You will wake
to find every question
answered.
No mystery.
No shadows.
No hunger
for more.
And you will ache
for uncertainty—
the holy wound
of not knowing—
because it meant
you were still
becoming.
Perhaps the end
is not ruin
but completion:
a world so whole
it no longer needs
us
to wonder.
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