It's quiet among the graves. There's a serenity. None are marked, there are no stones to interrupt the expanse. No way of knowing where anyone has come to rest. They're probably not there anymore anyway. They were all buried without casket, without preservative, without anything to stop them from feeding the soil and the life developing within. That's what they're here for, after all. To nourish us. To be the ground beneath our feet, the air we breathe, the water we drink. We'll never meet them, but we rely on them for everything. They are our world. And sometimes, we can feel echoes. Remnants of what they left behind. Their hopes, their dreams, their cherished treasures. We make of them what we can, and we hope we honor their memories, that they'd be proud of us. Of course, if not, it doesn't really matter. They aren't here anymore. We are. We ultimately need only please ourselves. But still, it would be nice to know that how we live now is in accordance with their legacies. A final thank you for all they've done for us. It's all we can offer them at this point.
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