Black Dots

Sometimes I wonder how one does attract happiness when so much is rotten with a deceiving sugarcoat on top. Why does yellow not stay yellow? Why is pink often not pure? Dots, and dots, I have enough of them. I like my apples without wormholes and my heart without aching pain. But in reality, I don’t eat apples at all, and I don’t know my heart to be beating without lingering pain, always on the edge of being broken.

I drink the poison, this well-known friend, but I crave for healthy, for real. That is just love, for happiness that comes without a sea of tears for every smile. Not the life of a fighter, but the life of a happy, careless girl. Do you think that kind of life exists? Or maybe just for some people and probably not for you or me?

Don’t take me wrong: You might think I complain why all looks so pretty here. But you never know what’s happening behind the scenes as I don’t know what’s happening behind your scenes. All I know: I long for happiness, for the disappearance of dots, and I wish you the same and keep my fingers crossed for both of us. And for a world without black dots.