when you were really young, there were those silly ideas and grand dreams that you lay ahead before your feet, waiting to explore, waiting to conquer-

and as time passed and knocks the fantasy out of you, replacing it with sensibility, you slowly forget/leave behind these grand dreams-

did you want to be a ballerina?

or to own all the marbles in the world?

or maybe your wanted to be the president,

or maybe you wanted to go (and live) in iceland.

work hard, get a pay rise, get promoted, buy the latest branded good/shoes/clothes/bags, eat nice/lavish food, get married, buy a flat, have children,

yes it's all very nice

but are these really the things i want (to do)?

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what happiness can a pair of shoes give me?

what happiness can a piece of clothing give me?

what happiness can a bag that i carry give me?

everyday we work so hard to earn that money

with money to buy more things things to make us happy

are we really happy?