How does the sun get its radiance emerging from centuries upon centuries of reactions
Similar to the ones in my belly when you walk up to me on our favorite weekends

If true love could exist then why was I born to unhappy parents and unhappy hands tore me out of the womb

And I cannot begin to solve the enigma of how love tends to fade but who am I to say that we were not in love and who am I to decide your fate (my love, you wanted to and you did so very often on our unfavorite weekdays)

And who am I to say I cannot wait until the weekends?
Who am I to wish away five-sevenths of my year to drown myself in 'self-fulfilling' activities that get me through five long days of things I am no longer passionate about?

And to that, I say I am human!
And I am a product of nature and like the pigs and the penguins I like having *** and I like to eat and I shall do as I please!

So please do not try to convince me that I cannot decide for myself; it is this illusion that gets me through three-hundred and sixty five days every year