Repetition. Repetition. Repetition.
I fear being connect to the past,
But I find my life revolving in cycles.
It was four years ago I first came to a place like this.
Four days there, now three here,
both at the end of February.
The cycles repeat.
I hurt, I heal,
I hurt again,
and there’s no way to stop it.
Maybe I like it this way,
who knows?
“Who is John Galt?”
Questions there are no answers to.
They aren’t meant to be asked.
But I can’t help it,
it’s who I am.
So I’ll ask my questions over and over.
And I’ll repeat my cycles over and over.
Until the end of time.
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