You see, I cant really say I am sad, or depressed, but I cant truly say that I am happy either.
Why? Can I pin point the exact thing that makes me sad or shall I say “doesn’t make me completely happy”, not really.
I know we live in a imperfect world and are surrounded by imperfect things, and that we ourselves are imperfect, but I wonder, am I suppose to settle for imperfect happiness because of that?
My world kind of seems like a bucket of white paint, that has a thin, slow and steady line of black paint being added to it over time, making me view the world with grey impure eyes, as if I am always in the twilight.
What does it mean to truly be happy?
I don’t understand, and that’s why I search for it, that’s why I wake up and do the things I need to do, and that why I try to improve myself, and I really do try so damn hard.
But what if all I do just goes about bring a negative impact for myself? and what if the stories and experience I can share with others brings about tears, rather than smiles? What if I end up adding some black paint into someone’s pure white paint? What if I become completely black in my search for true happiness? What if I never truly smile from the bottom of my heart or make someone else smile from the bottom of their heart?
Questions I keep asking myself that make me sadder ...
