I am writing to complain. I want to be happy, but I can't seem to obtain it.
It's elusive...this happiness. I wish for it to remain a constant state, that at the very least my mood won't break off too much from the elation that I get from this emotion. But it does, and it seems to spiral into empty loneliness. Perhaps I complain too much, or just want too much of a perfect thing. I don't know. But to be honest who doesn't? Mediocracy is the truth, I know it, because the human tendency is to think that you are special, that you alone ever feel what is the true right, bad, or political correctness as it should be....whatever that 'it' may be.