''I'm in love with my sadness''

I like sadness. What's so wrong about it?

I'm sad, and I enjoy every single bit of it. Every song, every bruised word, every shattered tear.

Happy things bore me. Colorful flowers, cute texts, happy gifts... that's all so obvious. Happiness is overrated. It's a search that never really ends.

I was happy once - you were the closest thing that I had to happiness. It was fatal, the disease itself. What did I do? I pushed you away.

I think I'm just lying to myself and I don't even know what's true and what's not. I lie to myself when I miss you, because I don't need you: you make me happy, afterall.

I don't actually want you back, I just need something else to blame but my own characteristic sadness, my own DNA. As long as I want you, I'll be pursuing an unachievable thing, and be happy with my sadness. If I don't, I'll just be ridiculous, depressive, and all the other things that society calls to what it can't understand.

As long as you make me injured, I'll want you. If you want me to leave you, make me happy. Simples as that.