Ah, some call it luck, I call it curse. There’s a high price to pay for happiness — an overloaded memory bleeding over and poisoning my entire system with regret.
Everywhere I turn, they tell me to follow my heart, but my heart led me to all the wrong places I have been to and it fell in love with all the wrong things and their shiny, glittering and promising sparks of better.
I would always run to them in a desperate, agonized, silent attempt to have reached the end of the rainbow. And then another end would shine brighter and they would tell me, once again, to follow my heart.
Am I nothing else but a sum of brief, blissful moments that can’t be sustained once the party is over? Am I nothing more but what the world gives me on silver platters and I, unable to stop playing lost and found, take everything in?
It seems as if it’s all a huge trade — you give your passion and the Universe gives you addiction in return. You sell your soul to the devil the very first time you step into a fun house.