paint me.

I could be happier. I try to be. Happy. Happier. Although I vaguely remember someone telling me once one shouldn't try so hard to be happy, else it's not really happiness that comes, if ever a similar feeling comes. It's going to be a delusion, not the real happiness. Or maybe just a feeling one got to feign. It works for some. But not really for long. And it gets taxing, too.

I try to be someone I'm not. Someone more, someone less than who I really am -- all depends on how you look at it, really. Less expression, more detachment. Whereas I would have yelled or laughed out loud or even danced to my hips' content, I'd bite the insides of my cheeks now. And look away. Sometimes, I let myself smile and maybe laugh a bit. Just two "Haha!"s suffice.

But I do try to understand that the world does not revolve around myself nor around any single human being or physical thing, for that matter. That truth exists -- it has always existed. But whereas before it was just a cliche that hung around along with the other "Early to bed, early to rise..." lines, it is now a spoonful of wisdom I'd have to force myself to swallow daily, if not every quarter of a day or so.

It's not that hard to be un-feeling. It's just when the reality of it -- of you trying your damnedest to feel nothing -- creeps in on you that sucks the most.