I went to sleep with a gun in my mouth, and now that I'm awake I'm wondering what made me fail to finish the job. I don't mean in a "I'm such a puss" kind of way, but rather a serious, "Why didn't I?" kind of reflection. There must have been something I thought was worth living for, or some idea, a plan, a hope, a guardian angel; if only I could remember what it was.
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