As the poppies blink away one by one, I’m reminded that nothing lasts forever.

Not the sky above or the meadow below. The words I’ve typed and read in the books spread around me, and the pictures I’ve captured with my camera… all gone.

I remove my hand from her as she sways naked upon my lap --red dress bunched around her waist, skin glowing under a sun already expired-- and grasp the last poppy before the light fades.

“Your session is ended. Please exit the booth.”

Nothing lasts forever. My hand remains clutched long after I rejoin the world.