As I have fleeting thoughts and ideas for permanent bliss I feel as if I am transported back to a better time, a time where happiness was organic and not found in a bottle or child proof container, a time where nothing mattered except for the objects and people within close proximity of my being. This journey to a better time is depressing and I struggle to downplay the significance of it all and yet this window to the past in all its majesty remains open. As I turn my back to the temporal portal to the past I take one more look, and all I see are bricks. Wait, fuck, the agents have set a trap, RUN.