One thing I seem to have learned being bipolar, there is always an end.
There is no limitless supply of happiness.
Happiness doesn’t flow like rivers.
It has its ending.
Yesterday I think I used up my happy rations for the week. Possibly for the month.
I was just too happy. I ran out of my happy gas and I’m sputtering to the side if the road awaiting a tow truck.
I wish life was like a fairy tale. One where it has the happy ending.
One where lovers walk off into the sunset along the beach holding hands as the credits roll.
One where your coloring in your favorite book and make beautiful pictures come to life. A life of endless fields of yellow an purple flowers as far as the eye can see.
One where a boy loves a girl and the girl loves the boy. They both go off dancing in the rain.
But sadly life is not a fairy tale.
My tale has the boy crying in the rain.
You just start to draw only to find your crayons are all broken in half.
The boy walks off into the sunset alone.