Prompt: write an elegy of your own, one in which the abstraction of sadness is communicated not through abstract words, but physical detail.
In the grander scheme of things,
Life goes on.
The toast continues to be buttered, occasionally burnt,
The birds still fly above us, shitting on our parade,
The words still flow from time to time, escapism saves the day.
The art of living -
As you no longer know -
Is a fine line
Between holding on
And letting go.
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