When All One Governs Are Spades

    She suspects that she is somehow intrinsically incapable of contentment.  She beats her fists bloody against the walls of her “prison,” then weeps at the door to be let back in.  She wonders if happiness forsakes her because she never looks hard enough, or because she looks in the wrong place.  It is simple and impossible to prove nonexistence.  Figuring it is probably her fault, she wishes someone would just tell her how to be happy. The problem is that someone already has.  She’d listened to him (more than one “him,” in fact,) and he was wrong.  He is always wrong.

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~ by ifindthisamusing on October 8, 2008.

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