If I were happy, what wouldn’t I do?

If I were happy, the day would turn to night, water would instantly vaporise, beautiful vibrant colours would turn to depressing monochrome, and eventually, the universe would implode. But maybe, on that one day, in that one moment of pure happiness, I could achieve everything I have always wanted to achieve.

Perhaps I could finally see myself the way I really am, the way I should’ve looked at myself for all these years but haven’t because I wasn’t happy with anything. In that moment, maybe I could call the one I love and tell him I do. There is a possibility he might reject me, but considering the world would implode a few seconds after, it wouldn’t deal such a heavy blow to me. At least I would have tried, before the end of the world.

When having achieved pure happiness, maybe I could experience what it is to be alive, without having to torture myself with fake smiles, lies about how well I am doing, and the obligatory kindness to all. Perhaps I could be myself for once; but not the “myself” that has been fictionalised to hell, but the real one. The “myself” that loves being “himself.”

If that moment would ever show its face, what wouldn’t I do? A whole world of new, fresh and daring possibilities would enter, inviting me to join the living world without restrictions, lies or adjustments. Maybe I could finally be happy with all the good things in life, with the fine beauty of nature, and the joy of company.

But, if I were to be actually happy, the Apocalypse would be just around the corner; because I don’t deserve to be happy.