Happiness was the forecast one afternoon where the weather was more than whether or whether not work would drag today into dusk without a cry into the night.

 
The light at the end hovering in the doorway will be mine in less than five.

 
What are hours in the way of happiness when I am assured it waits for me behind the slapping red door- shadowy screen- sticky lock- dread when it opens with me still a prisoner and a person enters willingly.

 
They only enter because they enter with servants waiting and can leave at their leisure.

 
I will not let it conquer me today because I know outside that single grated window it’s sunny and today I will not drag myself to an empty, exhausted repeat of yesterday.

 
I never expected rain awaited me; sunlight was a wish through the window.

 
Happiness is fickle, as an expectation is a question we lie to.

 
Are you happy?