Isn’t the truth of our existence kind of depressing?

It’s like for all of human history you’re here for a short while… every other person who’s ever lived is now dead.

and so often we don’t make a real difference. Like what does it all amount to?

And I mean, you can have Faith in something afterwards, but you don’t know for sure.

I feel like time is a predator. It stalks us all our lives… you can try it outrun it. But you can’t outrun it forever.

Isn’t the truth of our existence kind of depressing?
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