What if nostalgia is my happily ever after? I mean, nothing else seems to make me smile the way it does.. nothing else holds the comfort I crave the way it does.. truthfully, I’m starting to live in the moment less and less everyday as everything, everywhere triggers my hippocampus. So it plays around like a damaged puzzle to fuck with me. It loves fucking with me. Probably because it knows I keep falling for it. Funny how falling feels like flying. Like I’m not hurting my own self by shutting everyone out and living in a cosmo full of distorted memories masking itself to make me feel.... empty and whole at the same time. But this is what makes me happy. This is what I want. This is my reality. But you... you don’t think I’m actually happy do you? After all, how could someone living in the past truly be happy? But can I ask you, what the fuck do you know about happiness?