Peace.
To be happy is to be at peace. If your peace is the chaos and destruction of everything around you, then you’re happy. Is hiding away from everyone and everything until not even the smallest of mice could find you your type of peace, that’s when you’ll be happy.
Truly and utterly happiness is hard to achieve. There’s always something.
Bothering; itching, disturbing.
The clothes you’re wearing. They choke, squeeze, hug, and fall in the most peculiar way.
Your hair is settling in a spot that it rarely sits at, a little heavier than it was earlier.
A strange smell that you can’t seem to pinpoint and you’re getting paranoid.
Is it you? Is it something around you? Are you responsible for it? Are you responsible for taking care of it?
The world may never know and nor shall I. I choose happiness, I choose peace.
About the Creator
Rambler's Society
Hello everyone! I write fictional surreal stories and poems. I love writing and I hope that you enjoy reading what I've to offer. I have plenty more written down on my website so I'd love it if you'd go check it out!
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