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I can't remember a time when I was genuinely happy. I sit at the park watching all the children play, their laughing echoing through the recesses of my mind. How wonderful it must be to be naive, for happiness to blossom from a yellow flower or the flutter of butterfly wings past your face. To watch them play and smile gave me what little peace I could achieve.

Maybe there was once a time when that was me, jumping in the air, going down the slide with a howl of joy and the sunlight playing upon my face. I could vaguely remember the sound of my mothers voice telling me to be careful running from one side of the playground to another. How ridiculous that seems now, after all these years. My innocence may as well never existed. After all, what are memories that can't be recalled? They are lost, as if they never happened in the first place