Happiness

Happiness is gentle, soft, and sweet. It doesn’t want to intrude, so it never jumps out or clearly makes its presence known. Happiness just kind of suddenly appears, unexpected and easy. It’s like taking a deep breath after being underwater, and it’s overwhelmingly intoxicating. It’s so easy to take a breath of happiness and forget that sadness exists.

To smile and forget why because there are so many reasons to smile is the most beautiful thing. I wish that happiness could last forever, but happiness is always eaten quickly and the only thing left is a funny fearful aftertaste.

Because to be this happy can’t possibly last forever. If it isn’t possible to be sad for life’s entirety, why could it be possible to remain content?

Life is a cruel and unfair mistress, and happiness is one of the only solaces. She flutters gently, like a butterfly, and tiptoes around sadness. She tries to help and ease pain, and she does so with short bursts of feeling that can swallow even the most gruesome thoughts of self-pity. Without her, life would not be bland, it would only be dark.

Without sunshine, how is it possible to understand the darkness?

I always thought that to be happy, I needed what I didn’t have. Popularity, possessions, things that so easily overshadowed everything I was with thoughts of what I needed to become. I’m not going to say that I got everything I ever wanted because I don’t think anyone ever has. But what I will say is that I have had control of my future this entire time, and I think that learning to understand what I wanted was more than I ever could have imagined. To interpret issues and wonder why they are so coveted is something that will never make full sense in my brain.

Popularity: something I have always wished for; yet I still do not understand what it is. In my mind, the types of popularity are endless. Being popular for what you are, being popular for what you give, being popular for what you have; being popular for what you take. All these are examples and I don’t think I ever had the potential for any of them. The worth? I never really knew.

Something that I am is something no one else will ever be, and I do not understand why certain people were popular and other people with personalities just as diverse and learned were cast off to the side. What I am has never been popular, so clearly fitting into the first category would never become reality.

What do I give? Anything but myself, and I quickly came to realize that the things I have are only so important until people find out I have a limit. People only like what you have to give until the well of your gifts is empty, or until you say so. Giving up myself is something I am too terrified to do, because I am the only thing I have. Once I betray myself, there is no limit to the damage I can inflict. Damage that will only hurt to the extent of pain that I can remember. Because giving up myself turns into something more vile than the word give was ever meant to be. 

Being popular for what I have; what a reckless and disappointing way to live. You never have enough. There will never be enough time, money, or energy to be popular enough to satisfy the needs of the tiniest flea, and it saddens me to understand that.

I cannot take. Not consciously, not without the tug on my heartstrings that makes me understand and resent morality. It isn’t right and I don’t think it will ever be. Those who take are those who wish to give but are afraid to lose.