They sat at the edge of the lake in the evenings after the day was done. There was nothing beyond the lake it seemed, and if there was, they couldn’t have known it. For a couple of weeks, every evening, they’d come to the lake. They’d sit on a small cemented platform, large enough to fit the six of them if they sat shoulder to shoulder, and they’d stare. They’d stare at the landscape. They watched as a lone man rowed his boat every evening, making the scenery appear as if it was straight out of a painting. It was surreal. That was all they cared about. They talked about life as they got drunk out of their wits. He liked that. He liked that a lot. It was then that he learned that happiness wasn’t something you felt throughout life but in memories, spread over like polaroids. It was the moments that counted. It was about how many polaroids you could collect. He learned that he was happy at that moment, looking at the sunset over the sparkling, golden water, laughing, and just being stupid for a change. On one of those evenings, he learned something. It was something he’d learn forever that day. He learned that one could be crumbling inside, and still manage to find an ounce of happiness. His heart was broken, but he was happy, and that was all that mattered.