I wish I knew the answers. I wish I could pull a George Bailey and see what needs to be done, and why I should do it, and what will happen if I don't. And see where it will all end up.
But what does it matter, anyway? The world keeps turning. People keep living, loving, singing, crying, feeling, hoping, dreaming, dying, and this ancient empty world just keeps spinning along, slowly but still much too fast.
(It's extremely hard to study when I'm in a mood like this. All I want to do is read poetry.)
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