I had once believed that we could change our course, that the iceberg was avoidable, but alas, the only thing that's changed is me. The more you grow to understand the beast, the more you realize that only love can conquer hate. You learn to show love, even when served with hate; in fact, especially when shown hatred. Only I can be the change I want to see, no one else may ever be tasked with that responsibility. It's a forlorn life, but it's mine. Feels like judgement day and I'm left behind in my own personal Hell, while everyone else remarks "how swell!" But I beat on, boat against the current, clinging to the notion that history's recurring. Praying that Huxley was wrong but knowing he wasn't. Spending my days growing colder, more cynical and more certain. That for what's left of us, humans, it's curtains.