Yet believes all is sound.
He tells me he can make no promises
And those words sit heavily upon my hear.
Am I to be another statistic?
Waiting for an end that will never come?
I search for truth in his words,
A sign that all will work itself out.
How have I managed to put myself in yer another impossibility?
Will this be my end or will light finally shine down upon me,
Rewarding me for years of trial and error?
My cynical brain interferes while my heart races with dread.
Will this be the end of me?
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