an excerpt

an excerpt

“What makes you happy?”, he asked.

And I answered with the strange feeling that I should be saying something else:

“I don’t know.”

And he told me of his sister’s answer:

“She grabbed her chest as if drowning and stammered: ‘I-I don’t know!’”

And I said:

“Reality sometimes seems so illusive. Sometimes too real. Too harsh and bright and dark.”

“But you must know what makes you smile?”

“Do I? Do you?” I shook my head. “Should we only be doing what makes us happy and not seek what makes us sad and angry as well?”

“Life is already sad and angry.”

“And life is what we live. We all need to seek out what we need, no matter what it is.”

He shook his head. “I don’t understand you.”

I shrugged. “I don’t understand myself at times.”

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