Is it strange,
I wonder,
to find joy in our tragedy?
To suspect that these moments,
the tears shed over mushrooms and vine-ripened tomatoes
the heartbreak seeping from us as the golden yolks do from gently poached eggs,
that these make life beautiful?
To take solace in the inelegance of reality?
To see loveliness amidst despair? 

Perhaps I’m just learning to treasure the smallest things
when the largest are too sad to comprehend.


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