The price for an ounce of happiness, was 2 years of absolute hell which tailed right after. It is something of the vicinity of you asking for a pink bon-bon, of which joy lasts for 3 minutes, and then you fall in to a diabetic coma for next 8 months.
Price of happiness is shot high, not even a comparison to the property values in London. That joy mashed me down to particles and I was high and dry, waiting to be blown off by the gash of wind.
"How other people were surviving,"
the dehydrated mind of mine was thinking,
"...in this mean world full of malice?"
The hatred was the first thing formed me back into human form. It was unhealthy but was better than nothing. Just knew that I was in the right and thus hated the ones in the wrong. Sense of justice was making me a bitter thing while I was reconstituting into breathing life.
I am OK now. I shouldn't be but I am. I still hate them. I still am angry. But I am OK. Never wanting happiness though. Anyone trying to make me happy has no business in my life because I will never trust one.
Happy 2 years anniversary. I wish you burn in hell.
