Why does everybody pretend to be happy, as if it's a defect to be sad.
You meet and inevitably the first line is "How are you going?" followed by "Great thanks"
No one means it when they say it...
Secretly, we're all shades of happy and sad.
I think we're only truly honest with ourselves in the morning, while we're sitting on a train heading to work, or in the car driving into the city. Before our first coffee of the morning, we are truly and honestly ourselves.
No one looks happy then... Grey, sullen faces fill the carriage. Eyes cold and dulled stare around casting judgement. We're patronisingly patient as life slowly passes us by each morning.
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