Why do I have to get up this early in the morning for something I don't even like?
Why do I have to grow up?
Why do I feel so alone in a room full of people?
Why do I find comfort in small things?
Why do I fall in love with fictional characters?
Why do I get angry so easily?
Why can't I make up my mind and just want something with all my being?
Why does my heart have to be so analytical?
Why am I content with so little?
Why do I keep wishing for a miracle?
Why can't I quit coffee and "Doctor Who"?
Why am I not freaking out already?
Why can't I remember the last time I fell in love?
Why do I keep postponing the "moment of truth"?
Why do I even try to understand something that I don't even want explained?!