I was thinking about it, and I think I figured out my last
memory of being happy.
It was over the summer, and I was exploring through the
woods around my house. I had my dog with me and my adventuring cap on and it
was a hot and humid day, but it felt nice to be outside and in the forest
again. And my dog dug something up. It was a box. Just a plain tin box with
nothing inside but dust. It reminded me of some of the old tin boxes I used to
burn stuff in in my room when I was bored.
I thought it was an awesome treasure even though it was
empty, and I brought it back with me. I still have it in my room somewhere.
I think it was a nice feeling, being happy.
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