teganellen
Happiness. What even is it? It is so abstrast, so intangible, smoke through fingers, clutching at it, grasping for it. Chasing after happiness? Or letting it come to you, waiting?
A cold, hard, red, F on the top of a paper. That sick, sinking feeling in your stomach that sometimes results in harsh determination, but more often, a feeling of crashing waves over your chest and into your soul. A shout, a dissapointed glance in your direction, a slight shake of the head, and and almost impalpable sigh.
History is so unique, when you think about it. Its like a bunch of really tangled webs that all intersect each other at some point, like, the things that happen to you, or the people that you meet, the things that you think of, history is like a giant subway map that crosses all over the place, showing where things have gone, and where the future will take them.
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historyfeelingfakehappinesscomplexgrowingrepeatsitselforiginalhumansmeanrecycledlearnpastuniquebunch