if only i might say more often that i am adored
there simply aren't enough hours in the day to feel sad and lonely. there are only just the right number of hours between sleeping and waking to feel everything but happy. why? why is it that happiness to me is nothing more that a soapy little bubble of delight that comes around once in a while or two and then bursts into clean air? why is it that happiness is fickle and weathersome, tempermental and changing like lunar phases? perhaps i am just mad. that's it. i am mad.
i am mad to think that i am not loved. to think that i am passed by, ignored. anything else but adored. why, sometimes i even manage to convince myself that i am hateful.
curse me and my radical fears!