If what makes us happy is different from what we have now, then we must either change once and for all or stay as we are, feeling even more unhappy. When you hold a grudge, you want someone else’s sorrow to reflect your level of hurt but the two rarely meet. How often do we tell our own life story? How often do we adjust, embellish, make sly cuts? And the longer life goes on. If we ask that question, it means we want to find out what makes us happy. The fewer are those around to challenge our account, to remind us that our life is not our life, merely the story we have told about our life. Told to others, but mainly to ourselves. There was beauty in the idea of freedom, but it was an illusion. Every human heart was chained by love. But all the magic I have known I've had to make myself.
I always thought every day was a gift, but now I am looking for where to send the
With respect,
