I was never happy. But there was a time in my life when I was living. “Living? You live every day” they say. But that’s not correct. Being in a constant fog lacking emotion is not living. So no, I was never happy. But one time I was living. That time when I was living, oh those were the best three years of my life. Living tasted even sweeter to me because I knew the taste of not living. I got up every day, without regretting the fact. Oh, I still had problems. Probably even more now that I started feeling again. But those problems, they were oh, so worth it Because feeling them, meant I was experiencing life. Living. I’m not living now. Not since my sister died. You see, my sister was the only one who ever cared. They say the good die young, and that’s the truth. If that’s the case then I’ll live forever. In this utterly empty void. No, I’m not living now. I can still faintly remember the taste of life. (Only faintly) I hope one day, I can taste the sweet, sweet sensation of life again. Because now, I’m dead. I've been dead for a while. I can’t even smell the aroma. Not since she died. She’s gone. Forever. Not coming back. Oh, the taste of life… How I long for that taste.. How I ache for that taste. How I would **** for that taste. Life. Oh, it’s the purest, sweetest taste out there. And I long for it.