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And then there were none.
The world shrinks, contracts. With every gloomy year you lose more people. Everyone you have ever known spirals down. Eventually single digits. You try to stave it off, reach into the world, pull someone out. And they are special. You consider yourself lucky to have found them. But it doesn’t last. The friendships you tried to cultivate wither on the vine. And you’re forced to look at yourself and wonder if you ever stood a chance. Other people get married, divorced and still find someone.
But other people are not you. What people specifically want is not you.
You can’t make people like you. Imagine the bliss if you could.
You’re on your own, kiddo. As you always were.
Existence. That’s all you have left.