Just write... whatever comes to mind.
It's simple, Just Write.
The Aesthetics of Longing and Sadness
There it was, teetering on the edge. I wanted nothing more but to grasp at it, to clutch it between my fingers and pull it so fiercely into myself that I would be torn apart in the process.
Yet there I stood, frigid, motionless and without resolve. I stared blankly at it, as it slipped away. I did nothing as it moved ever so gently out of my reach.
I thought, in that frozen moment, that perhaps in the future I would look back and curse myself. I imagined a worn man, graying and frail, sitting with his face burrowed into wrinkled palms; tears escaping between his fingers.
The inevitable was at hand. With one jagged lurch, it slid and then tumbled beyond the cusp. I shut my eyes, and felt the warmth run down my cheeks.
It was gone, plummeting into the abyss; my dignity along with it.