Why are people sad? What is there to be sad about? Everything. There is rarely an actual happy person in this world. “I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m not sad. I’m not sad.” I lie. Why must life be like this? Why can’t I just be happy with what I have? Why is she a necessity for my heart? Why is there a searing pain in my chest whenever she is mentioned? What happened before? Why am I like this now? Why can’t my lies be the truth? Because it’s life.