The prize of sorrow

We tend to bliss. We crave for it. We struggle through out our lives crying for it. Have you ever had fear of it?

The happy days were sufficient to themselves. I lived them and they were past, forgotten. They left me nothing. But I was well on that time! I should remember them, holding those days like precious pearls. But nothing remains to me. Just few blurred recollections. They were sufficient to themselves.

It's like I spent a long time astray on a boat. The sorrow was a sharp, cruel companion. Always with me. After a long while I saw the shore, the wreckage I was on got me there. And suddenly I realized: I was scared to leave the boat. I was scared to be happy. I was scared to lose my sorrow.
Because in those sorrow I grew my art, because in those sorrow I grew myself. Would I lose myself if I forsake my grief? It's the source of my creativity, my immagination has its origin in it. What will it happen to me if I embrace the bliss?