I did not pine when I lost my love, for what is love save chemistry and comfort, it can be substituted.
I did not mourn when my hopes were crushed, for hope is mere fantasy, essential and unattainable, it can be always be regenerated.
There is no sorrow in my impending death, my friend, for death takes us all, this day or next.
What is death after all but an impetus to think and act, for only our ideas and deeds can live on, perpetuated.
No, it is only you who should grieve, you who are content with what you can buy, for you are the one who never lived, just existed.
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Written as a Five Sentence Fiction exercise at Lily McFerrin Writes.
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