Sometimes I think to myself before I type.
Before I let loose some feelings caged below.

Sometimes has frequently become often.
Often evolved into always.

But not today.

I came in, looking for an unused soap box, and release some feelings. Hopefully answer myself in my piece.

I started with regret and guilt. Wanting to erase the last 5 minutes from this story.
I wanted to return frustration from whence it came.
To unite all people within my nation.

So I thought.

But what would I be sorry for?
For what do I regret?
I genuiely do not know.

Loneliness is but the result.
The determinate was but me.