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The moon doesn’t look at the sun after a long, hot day and murmur, lazily, “I just don’t feel like coming out today.” The verdant leaves of summer stay glued to their branches; they do not decide, on a whim to float resignedly to the ground in the middle of July. But you, without thinking, can change your mind about me at the drop of a hat. The trees and the cycles of day and night do not sway you in the slightest.