When someone asks me how I am I usually lie, no one wants to know the truth anyway. I remember moments of happiness (every time Chloe sits next to me on the bed smelling like honeydew in her newest dress), but they're only moments. They're like little bubbles waiting to burst and all I can think of when I'm in them is that nothing lasts forever.
Henry asked me once in the light from hundreds of candles in an apartment in Brooklyn. The power was still out after the storm, we sat under the same blanket in the cold and I said no. I remember the way he held my hand so that no one else could see and he said it was a good thing because only ignorant people are truly happy. Someone next to us started laughing nervously but it wasn't a joke and that's where I am now, that's what I am now.
I've looked myself in the mirror so many times and said "no, I'm not happy", but that only means there is still something to be found in all this darkness. I'm not happy but I know I can be and sometimes that is all it takes and all that really matters.