read my mind, i’m tired reading yours.

learn psychology, when i’m a scientist.

when everything goes floating on the surface, is it real?

“faking the book, never faking the world”

is it me whose trying to read my own confusion?

or only frightened by the dry tears, unwritten love letters, minor chord on my piano, alone driving to nowhere, and every 5 seconds time after i open my eyes every morning ?

i’m happy, i’m happy, i’m happy with this cold feet.

i’m happy, i’m happy, i’m happy when there are dozen riddle to solve.

are me?