My possible futures
Are full of beautiful, breathing detail
They have names
Textures
Laughter
I lose myself
In their familiar smells
Their touch
Or at least the way
I imagined them to be
Someday.

In the end
When it’s clear
This future
Is not to be
I have this strange habit
Of distraction
Via
Vivid photos
Of abandoned places
Where once there was life.

This time it’s
Chernobyl

Everything is poisoned

Nothing can be touched