Dear Mr Destiny,
Happiness is like drugs: it takes you to
heaven in matter of seconds and then, when the dopamine is low, it drags
you down and drops you hard against the toughness of floor as if you were
nothing but an insignificant piece of nothingness. A broken piece of absolutely
nothing at all. And then, when you're already lying on the floor, hopelessly
and lost, it comes down to remind you of how good and pleasant it was to be up
and high, to remind you of the mere, crazy and magnificent taste of happiness,
the taste of what you had been dreaming for a good while and of what you will sadly keep dreaming for a pretty long and painful lapse of coming time.
-Fuck you.
Screw you. -
Afterwards, if it isn't yet bad enough, there it goes, straight into
your mouth, the harsh and bitter savour of wilt fulfilling your soul with the regret
of having tried this bit of happiness and, still even worse, the strange and
deep desire of never wanting to try it again. By the way, my dear Mr Destiny, I
can well recall having expressed, once upon a time, my mournful desire of
becoming emotionless, instead, I can't understand why I keep falling and
stumbling over the same rock once after another. May I have offended the gods
or might my karma be terribly wicked but now, I warn you, hopes and illusions
are no limitless and, most terrible: wounds do not always heal.
-Stepping on the right way in the wrong
timing. -
Destiny is a great piece of an asshole and cupid is a fucking drug-addict.
Mr Sarcasm: 1. Me: 0.
Alessia Garnet
(in a very very blue mood)
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