Why is it that we look forward to a Sunday, only to realize that we wake up so late and will celebrate half of the day? I guess that's the reason why it feels incomplete sometimes.
Why is it that my friends think I'm making a joke when I rediculously tell things with all honesty? I guess that's the trouble of being a joker, no one takes you seriously ;)
Why do I keep on asking too much, when all I want is to believe in the magic of life?
Why do I love art yet took Applied Physics as a course?
Why I feel sad despite the ends of mouth touching both ears with laughter?
Why do I have to ask these questions, when I already know the answers?
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