- You… have you ever been happy?
It’s a question that sneaks in quietly, like a shadow at dusk, stirring my thoughts. I look into the mirror, and my reflection stares back at me, like an untold story. The wrinkles are lines etched by time, carved by forgotten laughter and silent tears. Among the white strands of hair, it feels as if the winds of the past are whispering lost memories.
- Have you ever been happy?
The question breaks through, like a ray of sunlight piercing heavy clouds. Deep within, the answer seems lost, but eventually, it whispers:
- Yes, I think I have…
Somewhere, far away, in a day I can barely recall. A day like an old painting, its colors faded but its beauty still faintly glows.
- Have you ever truly been happy?
The words echo in my mind like a voice bouncing off empty mountains. I journey back in time, with my mind’s eye, to the days when I was just a child. Back then, happiness was a butterfly landing gently on my palm. I didn’t know what sadness or hostility meant, nor did I understand the world’s darker sides.
Happiness lived in the stories I listened to, in dreams of fairy castles, in moments when I believed goodness was everywhere, and evil was just a distant tale.
Today, as I look in the mirror, I see something different. I see a soul that has gathered moments, like a tree carrying both dry leaves and budding shoots. Happiness is no longer a carefree butterfly. It feels more like a hidden star behind clouds, one I must search for patiently.
The mirror doesn’t just reflect wrinkles or silver strands. It shows the story of a life, with light and shadow, with rainy days and sunny mornings. And maybe, in every one of those moments, happiness was there, slipping quietly in, even if I didn’t notice.
Happiness, like an echo from childhood, still has the power to resonate—if only I have the courage to seek it in life’s simplest things.