I want to stop making excuses.

I've recently discovered a new kind of irony - It draws sadness from things made of incredible happiness. Ok I'm having a little trouble trying to translate that feeling into words because I don't quite understand it yet. Maybe certain kinds of happiness only exists as long as you allow yourself to have that fantasy. After returning to reality you start looking for excuses as to why things are never quite what you picture them to be.

That initial happiness is cruel. It's like a tease done in bad taste.

What if you never get what you want? What if no one wants to make sure that you're really ok?

By the way, I'm running out of excuses as to why I feel this way.