Happiness is but a degree of dispair

which we can tolarate.

Thus, I’ve just seen someone who may be old friends with it.

I watch from across a chasm, their beaming smile which is by no means genuine. Though the others who witness it, give warm returns. I admire them without praise, perhaps studying them, trying to find a crack of that light. Trying to find myself. But all I see is a forged warmth that others gather for refuge from the chilling air in the path we all take. I wanted to feel warm too, but if I intervene, the fire would extinguish. But I’m content, enduring the cold and shrouding myself in a blanket of admiration. At least where I reside, I may ensure their fire is not consumed by the cold, and may soon even consume me.