"What makes you happy?" ~
' h a p p y ? '
Such a familiar word for such rare occurrence— she remembers times dubbed ‘happy’, yet she believes this word faulty. A facade to obscure the cruelty of the world from a fearful mind. The world that she lives in a world of danger, of life’s risk, and of fear— the only thing that once hid her from such truth was the ignorance behind innocent eyes, stained with the beliefs of others, never living by her own regard.
The word is untrustworthy as she believes that she has never truly felt 'happy'. Time is trivial, constantly dancing in winds of the past, being gusted away with every second that carries on, and she puts not a label on her emotions. Deep thought is put into answer as explaining such complicated view would result in not gain, but wasted effort. She looks not for a discussion, but an answer suitable to herself, and the superior who stands so curious before her. A glance is offered toward the scarf, woven black about her neck, and she answers plainly.
‘ I’m alive. ’