I have come to the astounding conclusion that I do not want to be happy.Glad. Pleased. What is happiness anyway, but a simple passing moment? It’s here one second, the next it’s gone and you’ve learned absolutely nothing from it.

I do not want to be with the man I love, I do not want remind myself of the beautiful times we spent together and I don’t want to allow myself to dream, not even for a mere second, of how we could spend our years together, how we’d become lovers, husband and wife, parents, aunt and uncle, grandmother and grandfather and in the end die. Together or not, that’s less important, because no one has escaped death so far. And death is but an unadulterated welcome to my tragic faith that I, on my own, have set for myself. So there you go. I do not want to be happy.

Who does, anyway?