snail

How can you truly be happy, when you`ve never felt it before, like your whole life you`ve only felt nothing else but a heart that´s sore? How do you know happiness isn´t made for you? Can I even believe that it`s something that exists, that is true? I`ve never shared a real smile before, always for appearances, And not knowing if it will ever change is drving me to craziness. i wish I can be the sunshine in the house they once called me, but the emtyness laying behind my eyes is something nobody could ever see. They always say go talk to someone about your feelings but never to me, cause my problems you couldn`t notice, even invisible for the naked eye to see. I hide it so well, like a snail in it`s save shell, but like a snail I sometimes just want to dwell. Not stay at one place I mean by saying that, but let my thouhts linger here and now just in this moment. But to be happy I have to be patient but what if this awful feeling will hunt me? What do I do then? Will I always be fake-smiling, gaslighting and writing? Writing about these ed-up feelings that I don`t even want to have or will I finally for once reaaly laugh? Like a snail in its save shell, its shell will eventually break, not with thunder but a quiet ache. The world will press, the lines will still. What once was shield becomes a chain made of heartbreak and pain. R.K