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𝙲̧𝚊 𝚢 𝚎𝚜𝚝, 𝚟𝚘𝚒𝚕𝚊̀ 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚌̧𝚊 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎. 𝙹'𝚊𝚒 𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚎𝚞 𝚎𝚗𝚟𝚒𝚎 𝚍'𝚎́𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚛𝚎, 𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚜 𝚞𝚗𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚎𝚟𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘𝚒, 𝚓𝚎 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚍𝚜 𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚜. 𝙵𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚑𝚒𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚌 𝚝𝚊 𝚙𝚑𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚍𝚎́𝚋𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚛 𝚝𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎 : "It's a good day to be happy". 𝙹𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎 𝚋𝚒𝚎𝚗 𝚙𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚚𝚞𝚘𝚒 𝚓𝚎 𝚝'𝚊𝚒 𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚝𝚎́, 𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚜, 𝚜𝚒 𝚌'𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚙𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚗'𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚎 𝚚𝚞𝚘𝚒 𝚜𝚞𝚛 𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚜 !

𝙱𝚘𝚗, 𝚜𝚒 𝚓𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚎̂𝚝𝚎 𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚌 𝚖𝚘𝚒 𝚖𝚎̂𝚖𝚎, 𝚓'𝚊𝚒 𝚋𝚒𝚎𝚗 𝚞𝚗𝚎 𝚙𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚒𝚍𝚎́𝚎 𝚍𝚎 𝚕𝚊 𝚛𝚎́𝚙𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚎 𝚊̀ 𝚌𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗. 𝙴𝚗 𝚟𝚎́𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎́, 𝚓𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚜 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚕𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚜'𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚎𝚗 𝚖𝚘𝚒. 𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎 𝚞𝚗 𝚜𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚚𝚞𝚒 𝚗𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚝 𝚚𝚞'𝚊̀ 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚛, 𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚛 𝚞𝚗𝚎 𝚟𝚘𝚒𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚎́𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎 𝚍𝚎 𝚌𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚎 𝚍𝚎 𝚖𝚊 𝚟𝚘𝚒𝚡. 𝚅𝚘𝚒𝚕𝚊̀ 𝚌𝚎 𝚚𝚞𝚒 𝚖𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚜𝚎 𝚊̀ 𝚎̂𝚝𝚛𝚎 𝚍𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚟𝚎𝚊𝚞 𝚍𝚎𝚟𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘𝚒, 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎 𝚞𝚗𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚞𝚌𝚑𝚎, 𝚊̀ 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚎́𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚎́𝚛𝚎́𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚍'𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗.

𝙱𝚘𝚗, 𝙼𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚎, 𝚛𝚎́𝚏𝚕𝚎́𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚜.

𝚀𝚞'𝚎𝚜𝚝-𝚌𝚎 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚓𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚒𝚎𝚗 𝚎́𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚌𝚒 ? 𝙲𝚎 𝚚𝚞𝚒 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚎 ?
𝙾𝚞𝚒, 𝚌𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚝 𝚞𝚗𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚎 𝚒𝚍𝚎́𝚎.

𝙼𝚊𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚛 𝚘𝚞̀ 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚛 ?