I don’t think there’s a certain definition. It means something different to anyone.
Happiness is what you make for yourself. I think it’s being content with doing nothing, but feeling like you’re time is worth it anyway. It’s loving people no matter what happens and just feeling carefree and loved.
I have a friend who I love so much. I honestly do, she’s been a little beacon of light these past few months.
And I think she cares about me, but sometimes she really doesn’t act like it. She’s very guarded - one of those people who constantly keep up their walls to avoid being hurt.
But she can be so wrapped up in her own problems that I don’t think she recognises other people have feelings and problems too.
It’s difficult. I try and give her my help but I don’t get a word of thanks back. I don’t expect much, because people always disappoint, but it’d be nice to be appreciated.
It gets tiring to always be taken for granted.
I’m really not sure. I don’t suppose I was a particularly memorable child.
Was it disappointment? She had hardly expected to be forgiven. What she felt was more like homesickness, though there was no source for it, no home. But she was sad to leave her sister. It was her sister she missed - or more precisely, it was her sister with Robbie. Their love. Neither Briony nor the war had destroyed it…She knew what was required of her. Not simply a letter, but a new draft, an atonement, and she was ready to begin.
‘Atonement’ - Ian McEwan