Happy

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Being happy feels more like an illusion than an actual feeling. It’s just a cover for the sadness that will hit you after all the smiles and laughs. Sure, for a few minutes, maybe hours, you’re actually smiling for the first time in days, you’re laughing for the first time in you can’t even remember how long, but when you go home and are alone…there it is again. There is no happiness, only distractions from your problems for short periods of time. Happiness is a fairy tale story our parents read to us as a child before bed. Happiness is that ladder rung that you just can’t reach. It’s right there, just one more step, but when you reach for it you slip and each time you slip you fall a little further and happiness gets a little higher on the ladder. It’s hard to imagine being happy. What does it take to really be happy? Is it an item? Money? Another person? Love?…No, it can’t be love. I’ve been in love..I still am. It’s not what I would call being happy.

I wonder what it’s like to be happy. I wonder if it’s even real or just a lie told to us as we were growing up to shield us from the brutal realities of life.

I want to know what happy feels like.

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