Dear god, I don’t want to be infinite, I have no desire to be so vast. That’s your job. Stop showing me things I can’t have, do, or be. Why give us light, if we can’t warm ourselves at the flame? What use is a voice when you live in the land of erasers? Is vision just an escape from what you should see, but won’t? This body is an absentee vote for the wrong race. I wish I had failed at more finite things so the whole thing didn’t feel like a wash.