I have been writing in a journal on an almost-daily basis since I was 17 years old. This is a record of me going through each entry from the beginning, and commenting on the me from fifteen years ago.

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Things are looking good now. You can fuck up fate once in a while, but you always return back to where you began. Where once the future looked bleak, I now can see the beautiful thing at the end. And yea, I can hear the approaching rumble of the future. Grand does it sound. It’s coming to run me down and eagerly I await to be crushed swiftly by its glorious wheels.

Why does the train have to crush you? Why can’t you get on it and take a ride?