Wake me up when September ends

To be in an existential crisis can feel very daunting and confronting. Recently, I found myself questioning the hope for tomorrow. What if we never reach the future? What if our future and everything it entails is the present and that is all that will ever exist? My boyfriend often talks about the life he envisions for our 80s. It’s adorable to think that someone would do everything they could today to promise you a beautiful tomorrow. What about our terrible twenties and terrific thirties and frightful forties or the fantastic fifties?

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