The truth is, I love being courted. I love being put on pedestal and have my feet kissed, being feed grapes and presented with jewels. Having the clowns of the country dying to entertain me and given the right to left-swipe them to the guillotines.

My bishop said happiness doesn't last. Those motherfuckers were mere butterflies, and what are butterflies but colorfully winged maggots that'd hop here and there to entice the sparkly eyes?

I couldn't help that my nature is to get easily hooked on what flies fast, what flaps beautifully, and what I think would be rare and would be nice kept in my hothouse. I saw something glimmers and I couldn't help but to give it a touch.

But they are no midas, except that these midas give you a heroin-shot long-worth of happiness. Two weeks, maximum, before the withdrawal made everyone rolls their eyes at you. It is just my nature.