'Happiness', he said meekly, sitting on the bed looking down at his hands, watching the veins pump as he clenched his fists. The hands look tired much like his sorrow expression, one could almost smell a sense of despair. He thought like he usually did, words formed better in his head, they always did. He thought about how happiness is something pursued yet never quite found. About how you only have yourself to pick your sad self up, you must get up and smile weakly or else the day only gets worse. A cycle that repeats often. Ultimately the only power, friends, family and loved ones can give is influence in its many forms. Don't let anyone break your will. The choice is yours and yours alone.