Happy Ending

You thought it was all there—
your being living in happiness,
easy,
breathing,
true.

Nothing tightened.
Nothing asked to be different.
It simply was.

Until your natural being
didn’t fit the script
they were waiting for—
and suddenly
your truth became wrong.

You didn’t label it.
You didn’t force it.
You let it live
where it lived.

But someone living in happy ending
will always see your happiness
as unfinished.
As not enough.

It’s their form
that keeps failing—
their blueprint,
their empty space,
their need.

You felt stillness—
the quiet proof
you had already filled everything
to the edge.

But stillness isn’t allowed
in a world made of endings.
Here everything
must become
a happy ending.

More.
More.
More—
until the living thing
loses its shape.

Happiness gets renamed.
Reshaped.
Shrunk.
Refused.

And then the world forms around it:
a room full of happy endings
but not happiness.
Chairs filled,
yet the air held
by a silence
born of habit,
not being.

No one questions it.
No one asks why.

Because there is no being there—
only the outline
of what it’s supposed to be.

That’s why it is silence,
not stillness.

You don’t want that room.
You don’t want the script.
You don’t want the ending.

You want happiness
allowed to live.

Alive.
Felt.
Uncontained.

And then you see:

There was never anything wrong
with the happiness—
only with the world
that demanded an ending.

So you realised:
your being needs
a being
who can let happiness
be enough.