What The Future Holds

If I could string together a coherent sentence, I would rail at the world and spray every last bit of hate and disgust inside of me out through my mouth and every pore of my body. I should isolate myself to the beach, into a cave shattered by waves for the last two hundred thousand years, and shift my focus to the frothed water instead. If I buried the angst on my face in this safe and sacred place, would I become wide-eyed and hopeful again? Possibly, but it might take another two hundred thousand years to regain my composure.

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