For love and happiness,

To exist for so long,

Then, we shall forever be in bliss.

But, of course,

This cannot be true,

For, the love is all but real.

The people cannot be so loving,

So carefree.

So happy.

They are plastic to me.

I have no use for such fake smiles,

For the horrid scars behind their eyes,

And the tears that spill over in silent.

These are what true feelings are,

Not just a smile and a laugh,

Both as stiff as a board.

The feeling of sadness,

The holder of scars,

The seer of most things.

The happiness,

The love,

The carefreeness.

For, this, is what makes a person.

Both.

Not either or.

For love and happiness,

To exist for so long,

Then we shall forever be in bliss.

However,

Who's ever heard of such a perfect world?