A non-existent feeling.

Happiness in life lasts only for a few seconds.

Birthdays. Meeting good people. Talking to good people. Sleeping peacefully. Buying something you love. Eating your favorite food. It only lasts moments. 

Seconds to be exact.

It doesn’t even matter after a while, everything blurs into a whole corelated nothing. 

Once you reach a point like that, you feel nothing. Happiness is fake. It doesn’t bring happiness. You are not happy. Momentarily pleased maybe, but not happy. Pleasure and happiness are different​. Independent yet interelated on some terms. 

If I was happy, I wouldn’t have to run through my building’s basement into the street at 1:43 am, barefoot and cold, looking for my drunk and angry mother. All I wanted was sleep that day but I knew that is an impossibility in this distorted environment. 

I ran halfway across the street and found her coming back, I took her hand and led her back to whatever my house seemed at the moment. It wasn’t a home. It wasn’t a safe place. It was just a spot. A possible fair ground where people could believe and pretend to be safe and happy. 

A Utopia that didn’t exist.

Happiness came in the moment I found my mother. No not happiness, I was pleased that my mother didn’t get hurt.

God knows what all goes down on Indian streets at 2 am in the night or morning. Whatever. 

This place is cursed. I am cursed. By some force that is immaculate and perfect and hates everyone who dreams of a happy life. A quiet and untroubled one. This force challenges those cursed everyday. And while we pretend nothing bothers us, we are furious. 

I am furious. 

I am a 17 year old Indian girl living with a family so godamn dysfunctional, it could be the metal version of The Simpsons.
Happiness is a truth nobody acknowledges. 

It’s a myth that I forgot during the times I built my Berlin Wall against my parents. 

A war that consumes the body, that wrecks the slightest sliver of motivation you have or need to walk through broken bricks and glass. 

Happiness is a word. A nine letter word that we accepted, but it turned on us so easily.

It cackles as those who believed​ in it crumbled.

I heard that visious, thick laugh so many times.

I hear it when my mother screams and her voice sounds like it’s scraping against rocks.

I hear it when I forget to breathe.

I hear it when I’m subject to words that have no use to my significance. 

I hear it everytime my heart jerks in it’s chest and fear spreads like electricity through a substation.

I hear its cackles, it’s murmers, it’s whispers that tell me I’ve got nothing. 

As my whole life is nothing that bothers nothing and everything at the same time.

I tell it to shut the fuck up.

It cackels even more. Louder. 
My friends tell me I’ve got everything sorted in my life. I want to tell them no. Maybe in this moment, this moment I’m talking to you, possibly I’m entertaining this idea. This philosophy that a Utopia exists. One where happiness is not a myth. 

But I’ve already said, it only lasts moments, seconds. 

And I’ll tell you now, my dear friend. That, that moment for us, for those who are yet to realise, will never ever be enough.

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