Cruel.
That's life.
C'est la vie.
So why does it feel like it hates me?
All the happiness is temporary.
It's given. That we know.
But every time I'm sad, life slows.
I'm not supposed to care.
But attachment is something that needs care to grow.
I do care.
...
As much as I don't want to, it shows.
I love.
I'm sentient, after all.
I'm a living being, I cry, I bawl.
I breathe, I feel...
A little too much sympathy for my own glee.
But, hey, I suppose c'est la vie?
