Through the glass of the fishbowl, I see myself. It looks so sad, floating so swiftly yet without purpose. Day after day, just rushing through the circle of routine. No pause for reflection, it lives completely in the present. Does it realize that the world will soon end? Does it realize that its existence, so relatively unknown by society, will soon disappear along with its hopes and dreams? On rare occasions, it comes close. I even flirt with the idea that it knows me, loves me. I wish it would feed me those flakes soon. What was I saying again?