The wind speaks to me in gentle whispers, telling of a place far away where I may find happiness at last, and yet somewhere deep inside a voice of reason resides.
What I seek has been here all along, but it is hard to reach, and thus it is easier to entertain thoughts of an easier solution. To look up at the sky as I do now, dreaming about that place; a place where all of my worries turn to naught.
What causes happiness? Is it the sights you see… or perhaps the people you meet? Well, no. Things in themselves no not cause happiness. Fly, fly if you want, fly far away, but you can never escape yourself.
It is us and the impressions we have of the world that causes happiness; or unhappiness. Yet… despite it being obvious that we hold the key to our happiness, we cannot make ourself exert the effort to turn the key. Because… what if that place existed, what it it were as easy as that. Instead of having to deal with ourselves… we could just earn enough money to buy a flight to paradise.
Sadly it does not work like that. Work and work so hard that you break, all for empty promises. Then again, I am the same. As I look up at the sky I cannot help but listen to the sweet sweet whispers carried by the wind. Clinging onto empty hopes of a place far away where all my worries turn to naught.