happiness is like a bag of weed. you have to share it with your friends.

been spending my time here in this square room with nothing but my wandering mind. it's one of those solitary moments. and this question has been popping out from my head and bouncing off the walls: "when you stopped loving what you do, what would you do? resign?"
oh passion, where are you? where did you go? you were there the whole time, hand-in-hand with my dreams. i am nothing without my dreams. to be honest, i loved this more before it was a real job. reckless. not caring of what happens next. hit the stage and rock it like there's no tomorrow. drink until you pass out. kissing strangers. punching faces. with all the people who'd always be there for you no matter what. i'd trade anything for that.

now everybody is everywhere else.

and happiness..

only exist..

when shared.