Perhaps I’m simply not designed for happiness. I mean, I’m certainly designed for love. That isn’t even a question. But am I meant for anything more than that? If love is the path to happiness, am I only meant for the means and not the ends? The journey but not the destination? I seek to be better. I work so damn hard at it. To kill off this other side of me. But I run in these fucking circles. Non stop. And sometimes I do it alone. Sometimes I have company. But I’m getting fucking tired my friends.