There are times when I completely lose my thread of happiness. Walking down the road, I become conscious of the grin on my face. I can’t figure out why its there. I rack my brains to reclaim the source of my good disposition. I find it all right, but by then it is always too late. It is too small, a pittance.
It seems all that everything that made me happy are things of the past. I remember places and times that made me happy. Revisiting them is a bittersweet experience. A gesture, a street corner. They cannot bring any more joy to me. Something inside me is missing. A huge chunk.
Life has been reduced to just going through the motions. And I take on each day knowing that it takes increasingly more to make me happy.