Happiness is a bitch.
Happiness is a beach in a city you visited because you had to, but didn’t even care to find out the slightest thing about, before going there.
Happiness is a beach of many golf-like beaches, with traces of bonfires and old embers you can pick up and draw with.
Happiness is half a notebook found in a drawer, when you expected the least to find any usable piece of paper.
Happiness is a bitch.