O dear, O dear, how tiring is to explain yourself to other people. O, especially people that you thought should know you by heart, as they would and they could. Why are you crying? Why are you devastating? Why don’t you try harder? Why aren’t you happy? Why you want that? Why you are suddenly silent? Why are you still here? What makes you think like that? What do you want? What’s the matter? What’s make you who you are now? Tell us, tell us, tell us. Say a thing, say something, say anything. Make us understand you.
O dear, O dear, why a self-explanation carry such a heavy burden, wrap in a tense conversation. O especially conversation with intimate people that you thought should feels you in certain way as they would and they could. What makes it so urge? Why now? Why must right now? Why I must come with reasonable instant explanation? Why push me so hard? What’s with the insistance? Save me, save me, save me. Stop it, I need some space to breath. Please.
I wish I can please everybody that I love, but they demand a thorough explanation about myself. As if without it and being just myself hurt them too. My obscurity gives them mental pain, and my sad face is a curse for them. Should I’m not oratorical, I have no right to confuse them with my haphazard emotions. Stay happy, stay content, stay cheerful. We just want you to be happy, nothing harm done except you to yourself if you keep those gratuitous sadness.
O dear O dear why is so tiring to explain my being?