Thinking back to my moments of being happy, as i read the above, I had the thought that if I could wipe out sad or happy memories, I might be tempted into wiping out the happy ones - for they are the ones whose chains bite into my skin, so that I fear to fly again.

Sad memories I can shunt aside so that I mostly ignore them - after all, I sort of expected them as being the cost of being alive.

Happy memories are the napthalm that burns, turning me into a coward, for I do not want to ever endure such losses again.

The sad thing is, even when I read of such a moment of happiness, I ache with the thought of what he or she is about to endure, knowing they will never be as pure again, for happiness scars us in ways even sadness cannot.