I have known happiness, but she no longer frequents my side. I feel no presence except my own as ink wavers over paper, as fingers falter above keys. I pen these few words in sorrow. I am gone and a fragmented and brittle shell lies in my wake. It suffers the blows from others, breaks. Quietly, passively, it sniffles as it remembers joy and hope and mercy and faux loves. It curls up and wishes to forget the frauds of the past. I know no happiness now.