One Last Thought

I read online that the universe will eventually be so vast, everything in it will drift far enough from everything else, the whole lot will disappear. But before that, the last sentient being will have one last thought. Huh. The idea runs around like a toddler in my head. It swings across the monkey bars and doubles back. Folds in on itself, does a summersault, and springs open again. It’s gotta be a curse word, right? It would be if the thought were mine, but of course it won’t be. Or so I think. Shit. I hope whoever it is doesn’t know. Imagine the pressure that comes with knowing yours would be the last thought in history. Are burdens like that still heavy out there or do they float like bodies in a pool? I have to leave before I know. My phone tells me my ride to the airport is outside, holding my own little world on the edge of expansion. At the door I take one last look at the place I call home, at the plants I cultivate, and on my way out I think: be good, you guys.