I can sit at the computer, listening to the music and reading my book. I can get things I want without worrying about the money. I can hang out with pals, shopping and gossiping. I can do a good job at uni and be appreciated by the professors. I can sleep thoughout the whole night without a nightmare.
I can do a lot of things.
But suddenly I realized that though I'm happy, all these things I can do are far too shabby to be named HAPPINESS.
Happiness can never be simply defined as the none form of HAPPY. NO WAY. It's more than holding on to a dream. It's further than being kissed by an opportunity.
Happiness is not sth. I can reach out and get hold of. It's a ticket blown away by the winds and have me runnning after. It's the tricky God that has the bird picking up my ticket and flying high only one second before I could catch it. It's an enormous piramids only to be conquered by those determined.
Miss dear Happiness, can I call you the sleeping princess?
'Cause only the one who burdened with pressure, tormented by trauma, wiped by the unfortune, but still managed to clench the sword of creed and fight back could kiss you and hold your hand.
Want happiness? Run for it.