in all literature i studied
we never study the different kinds of happiness
a mother giving her child a big hong bao on his birthday
happiness
sadness
an sms wishing happy birthday from an old old fren
happiness
sadness
fruiting of a plant after half a year of care
happiness
sadness
meeting old frens once again
happiness
sadness
it is a fact there are more dystopias in lit than utopias
tts why we never learn what happiness really is
it is hard to comprehend
the feeling i felt when i came home today
and saw my plant wif an awkward protrution
its a fruit
it finally bore fruit after half a year
its hard to understand too
glass and litter as a birthday present
it made ones day
its just hard to fathom too
how easily pple are pleased
and how hard it is to please others
wonder what im doing wif my life
i guess theres a difference
being contented in life and being happy in life
i guess this insatiable apetitite for fulfilment
will never be cured
