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it's hard to write about happiness. happiness is, itself, redundant: it is an end itself. unlike negative feelings, like sadness or anger. there's always something to write about sadness, about the thorn in the side that drives us insane. most of times, we seek redemption. we seek healing, a way to overcome it, to see the blue sky beyond the clouds with the sun shining above. sometimes we just feel miserable, and we want to find ways to go on feeling like that. to feel sorry for ourselves.

we can, of course, write about happiness when we are sad. but it never feels real. we're not thinking about something we have, but something we wished to have. and we can only wish for what we don't have. thinking about being happy when we're sad thus involves a degree of longing, of not feeling whole. of having something missing, as melancholy lurks around. sadness is always hungry. it demands feeding, nourishment - not to quiet down, but to carry on. it draws on what we don't have to continue its near-endless cycle. and there's always something to feed on. there's always a way to proceed and to control.

but when we feel happy, we need nothing else. the feeling nourishes us, drives us as long as we let ourselves go. we don't miss the darkest days we've left behind, we don't look at any possible cloud in the skies - and even if we look at them, we don't see them as a threat, as rain to fall. we look at them and smile. as if we could touch them. and perhaps we can, as we can drift over them. we can't overcome happiness - or rather, we don't want to. we feel for the sake of feeling. why should we write about it, then? it would be redundant, as it all seems so obvious. no words would be adequate. they are nearly pointless, as a matter of fact. we are happy. our smile is just there for everyone to see it. what else could we possibly need..?