Futile Endeavour

In the verge of losing hope, I search for something to hold on to, something that will bring back the happiness that was once such an intense and real feeling. I look for it in places where before it was to be found. I search in your eyes for it, but all I encounter is plain emptiness, too frightening for me to evaluate it's immensity. Wearing the same clothes captured in the photographs in which my sincere smile starred, does not seem to recreate the same sensations. I am trying to mirror the trail followed back then to become who I was, but the footprints have worn out. Looking inside myself proves to be a futile endeavour. Happiness stands everywhere else. I witnessed it just the other day. The way he was looking at her whilst she spoke. It was so natural, so authentic, so impossible to emulate, so far from my reach... But I was once there, I know I was. Now I am deprived of the vitality injected by the enchantment of felicity. Where do I even start looking for the energy I need to harvest in order to be able to proceed in my search?