xkcd 334

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Will your grace command me any service to the world's end?

Second Life Syndrome

Nothing helps.
Every one lost leaving a dent
That no replacement could ever fill;
No ersatz touch, or feel, or scent,
No self-delusion or strength of will.

Nothing helps.
Every one lost leaving a brand,
Leaving a skid mark on one's soul
Where something sacred used to stand
'till one is forced to let it go.