Kneeling on the edge of
A precipice,
Afraid to let go of all the little things
That make a life.
The hours spent improving hand-eye coordination
In front of screens,
Minutes conducting strands of hair into place,
Seconds saying goodbye to loved ones.
All of this is forgotten by time.
Noteworthy actions may be chronicled,
Sandwiched into a single line
Of some great book...
But there's no one there to read it.
And so, with nowhere left to go, we stand.
Then, with our head down,
We go dark.
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