If I had everything I ever wanted, I still don’t think I’d be happy.
I try to imagine. What that piece looks like. I know what it feels like. I’ve been happy before. Time moves. Faster. When I’m happy. Like the universe, Can’t stop. I can’t stand still. Almost out of spite.
If I had everything I ever wanted, I don’t think I’d be happy. I refuse to believe a perfect utopia is possible. It’s one of the reasons why I’m not religious. I don’t think there’s anything waiting on the other side, and it scares me.
If I had everything I ever wanted, I don’t think I’d be happy. There’d be nothing left to aspire to, to climb to or to reach for. I think about the last time that I felt happy–that I felt a comfort where I could lay in a bed all day. And not ever leave. I felt that years ago, and even then at the back of my head, I knew that it would all end.
If I had everything I ever wanted, I don’t think I’d be happy. Because while I could be happy, there might be someone else who isn’t. There would be no rejoicing of eternal peace. I don’t exist in a bubble. I think I’d like to.
Forget it all, all the consequences, what tomorrow could be. If I was happy, I’d know that my last day was the next one.
JOHNNY PEGUERO 