the stopping of the clocks.

So it's official. The world is ending.

People lie. Get cancer. Die young. Never find their soulmate. Don't believe in soulmates. Don't believe in love. Never realize their dreams.

Cradle-born catholics freeze up in the middle of Hail Marys and forget the words. Then get shouted at for not being at church: in church: for church.

Then do extensive research on the Gnostic gospels: more than ever they did the bible in their lives.

Who's to say what's right or wrong? And whether homosexuals are loved in the eyes of Christ?

Or whether alcoholics and smokers and addicts really do recover? Or that love: so bright and so true: will only eventually fade away into anger and deceit and regret?

Or that paranoia: that funny friend: will not be the the one to save us all in the end?

Husbands skype women who are total strangers from halfway around the world while their wives turn a blind eye for the greater good.

People shut themselves up for years and years in houses: on airplanes: in dreams: in books and trains and sex and work and money and continents because the selfishness is too much.

People cry too much. People hate too much. People get lost too much and are too tired to find the way back.

Friends don't know how to be anymore. People get too much.

Fake too many smiles and wage too many wars and marry too many people they never love.

There is not enough love. Heaven help us.