2063.

Expectation the
rote of love. The modern turn,
capitalism.

2062.

A world in which so
very little changes from
one day to the next.

2061.

Intentions are all
inverted on this playing
field of empty hearts.

2060.

The breeding ground of
loneliness, spreading nothing
but slow, dying hope.

2059.

A confusion of
senses. Vision taking up
the space feeling needs.

2058.

We are so obsessed
in debasing others, we
forget our frailties.

2057.

I resent far more
relationships than I will
ever just enjoy.