That I always want to think of weekdays as approaching the day after instead of tomorrow.
That I'd never cry when angels deserve to die, but feel hollowed out when the tea cup suddenly runs out of tea and I've sipped on the last sip unthinkingly.
That nature sounds impart a certain soothing quality to life but with cicada's chirring like a universe full of marbles clashing during an apocalyptic event, sending thrums of ear deafening noise right into my spine I am beginning to question their appeal.
That I'm in no mood to begin this Monday.
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