Double-Fisting Hiroshima

An infinite number of possibilities reek about me, but I feel like I can't touch them or taste them or feel them or be them.  I feel limited, I feel limiting.  Honey, this engagement is over.  Do we marry or do we part ways?  Every instant standing still is a possibility lost to the great, swallowing monster of time and I want them all back--I want every moment I ever turned down.  Perhaps if I just go back to the places and re-invent the occasions I'll be able to apologize to my monster.

He is not forgiving.

Do we exit, or stay?