Your imagination.

Is life really this hard?

Or is it all in my imagination?

You convince yourself for a 

minute,

day,

year;

of how lovely everything is

and then looming clouds form overhead.

(It can be brief.)

How do you escape the rain?

Find those things you see beauty in?

I found people.

I found protection of closeness.

It appeared to be the highest form of happiness,

but I want happiness from within.

(Not from you, not from things; nothing fleeting.)

Because every other kind disintegrates.

And then you feel hollow.

Do not base your happiness on things you can lose. Right? Then what do you have?

Your imagination.