Ephemeral

The capacity to love anything attractive, 

however fragile it might be,
is a hallmark of psychological health. 

This is why I look with awe to the blossoms, 
the birds, 
the bees, 
the flowers, 
and the trees. 

I well up at the thought of the bodies I will never experience, 
the works of art that will go unappreciated. 

I sigh at the night sky, 
as well as, 
a well-formed sentence, 
for I will never achieve the effortless grace by which they navigate my eyes and ears and dreams. 

How can it be 
that those most in thrall to beauty are the ones who will be especially aware of, 
and saddened by,
its ephemeral character?

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