The Beautifully Depressed

This is the manifest of the unhappy. And by unhappy I don't necessarily mean miserable, drenched in sorrow individuals; just...devoid of happiness, like a silhouette displaying a periodic smile before it withers away and loses itself in the crowds. The ones that seem to live in other worlds. If you think about it, it's rather amusing that the ones that really cling to their souls are the ones that seem soulless, apparently lacking any emotion like beautiful empty carcasses.
You know, those people that you see in the bus, gazing lost, outside the window as if they're looking for something. The kind that remain silent and smiling in large groups of people that speak in loud voices, like flocks of seagulls. People that don't take life for granted; that have dreams and ideals yet are decent enough not to step on others to get to them. The ones that wake up in the morning afraid they're going to live; that pretend that everything is good and well without constantly complaining to others. People that honestly don't know what happiness is anymore.  People that make you feel good and don't do it as a favor you have to return. People that fascinate you somehow, yet you never get to know them. All you find out are things about them. Fragments of life that you never fully understand. These are the kind that never make life unpleasant with their petty aspirations; that don't talk about fucking X or having Y's money. People that are not disfigured by malice and crippled by envy. People whose sympathies don't change over night. People that are as cruel, as mean and as just as everybody else but without taking all that on the innocent. People that even if they are
People that have given up the hope of finding a real job, being happy and having someone to love. People that feel alone even when surrounded by others. People that are awkward and imperfect. THat are too skinny, too fat, too slow, that don't drink, or drink too much, have small boobs or are gay. People that bottle up happy memories just to feel glad from time to time. People that hate being told to be happy as if it were a button that you somehow forgot to push. People that only wish to feel alive more often in a world where the dead laugh and play in the sun.  People that are more impressed by the sound of a piano rather than a "killer baseline". People that are artists without having any talent. People that are works of art. That write, paint, sing, dance and make wonderful things out of their sadness.   
People that are...still human.
But this secret cast of the beautifully depressed can never live.


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