Everyone Was at the End Except Me - a FOMO elegy

I. The Invitation

They sent me a golden envelope sealed with static.

The text read: Party at the end of the world. Bring nothing. Come undone.

I RSVP’d maybe,

but the app crashed,

or time folded,

or I blinked too long and missed the deadline.

Across the street, the sky turned crimson.

People wore sunglasses at midnight and danced to frequencies only dogs could hear.

I watched from my window as the Earth’s axis tilted three degrees and nobody spilled their drinks.

II. The Timeline

Stories poured in:

Karaoke with ghosts.

Champagne that tasted like childhood memories.

An exorcism-turned-dance-battle.

Someone proposed to the void, and the void said yes.

I tapped through it all in silence,

thumb aching,

wifi flickering,

wondering how the apocalypse smelled.

(Was it sandalwood and regret? Burnt toast and missed chances?)

My screen asked,

Do you want to go live?

But I hadn’t been “live” in months.

Only buffering.

Always buffering.

III. The Echo Room

Now the world is quiet.

Or gone.

Or paused on a frame I wasn’t in.

I wear the clothes I would’ve worn.

Say the jokes I would’ve said.

Slow dance with a shadow wearing my name tag.

Outside, the stars hold a debrief.

No one mentions me.

Still, sometimes I think I hear the party

in the static between radio stations,

in the click of an unplugged keyboard,

in dreams where everyone’s leaving

and I’m still tying my shoes.