Have all my warm fuzzies been used up? Have I played all my cards and I'm left with a crappy hand? Will I ever become something more then what I am, insignificant mass of illogically destructive cells?
One lives to find out, I guess. I just wish I could be blessed with knowing what's coming for me, take all the guesswork out of it. In a subjective future, we can still only make each choice once.
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