yet i still like the smell of wet earth after it rains, and i still look for happiness in places my heart feels heavy to lay in.

is happiness real? or is it purely an escape from our miserable reality? are we drawn into moments of relief and oblivion because the tragedy of our small existence and our angst towards the world are too much to bare and would lead us to despair? because, in a way, real everlasting happiness is merely an illusion, a temporary act that allows us to cope with the pain and loneliness consuming every and each part of our being. 

i long for days where i can feel alive. days where i can smell the wet earth after it rains, and i can feel the summer breeze of our never ending december. days where i can hear the birds sing and i can feel it in me because it’s no longer hard to breathe. i long for days where i no longer long for happiness to welcome me in its entirety. i long for something that shall never come for me.