Why Be Happy If You Can Be ART?
One of the biggest lies we tell ourselves is that we want to be happy. We just don't.
As humans we have a dying desire to be constantly unhappy and sad and heartbroken.
Why do Romeo and Juliet die? Why do we love sad songs?
Why don't you call him? - The telephone's right next to you, there's his number. All it takes is you calling him and telling him that, damn, you have never quite loved anybody the way you love him. He would say something like "I love you, too." and you would live happily ever after.
Why do you stay with her knowing better than anyone else that she is toxic and that all she does is hurt you again and again and again?
Why didn't you go to New York, huh? Why weren't you in London, or Iceland, or South Africa, or wherever it is really that you're heart was hungry for?
Why didn't you work harder? It could've been you walking up that stage and her watching you, not the other way round. Then she would've been the one drained in jealousy, jealousy, jealousy, and not you.
The truth is - sadness, pain, terror, jealousy, loneliness, regret ... - these monsters are your best friends. You love them more than anything else. More than anything else you love staying up until 4 a.m. crying because the tears and the feeling of something heavy dragging you down are the most beautiful emotions you have ever tasted.
And you are obsessed. You are obsessed with destroying yourself.
As humans we have a dying desire to be constantly unhappy and sad and heartbroken.
Why do Romeo and Juliet die? Why do we love sad songs?
Why don't you call him? - The telephone's right next to you, there's his number. All it takes is you calling him and telling him that, damn, you have never quite loved anybody the way you love him. He would say something like "I love you, too." and you would live happily ever after.
Why do you stay with her knowing better than anyone else that she is toxic and that all she does is hurt you again and again and again?
Why didn't you go to New York, huh? Why weren't you in London, or Iceland, or South Africa, or wherever it is really that you're heart was hungry for?
Why didn't you work harder? It could've been you walking up that stage and her watching you, not the other way round. Then she would've been the one drained in jealousy, jealousy, jealousy, and not you.
The truth is - sadness, pain, terror, jealousy, loneliness, regret ... - these monsters are your best friends. You love them more than anything else. More than anything else you love staying up until 4 a.m. crying because the tears and the feeling of something heavy dragging you down are the most beautiful emotions you have ever tasted.
And you are obsessed. You are obsessed with destroying yourself.
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