Some Sense Of Happiness

sunday t

 

The days grow warm. The sky stays brighter for longer. My feelings are muddled, scattered like marbles on thin ice. But the ice would just melt in this weather, and my feelings would end up sinking to the bottom of a cold lake. Love, happiness. Feelings that run deep, that are difficult to make sense of. My head’s a tumbling mess of leaves and insects mixed together in quicksand. Laying on the floor of the back bedroom, I smile at the memories that dance before my eyes. They make me feel good inside, yet they inevitably bring sadness too. If only things could be easy. If only you knew what you should do. By now though, I’m more than accustomed to the knowledge that you’ll only find out with time. Mistakes will always be made, and you have to learn from them. There’s no other way.

I should speak the words. I should express the feelings, but sometimes it just gets you nowhere. There are times when you share your love and it gets neglected, left to wither amongst the weeds in a garden. It’s the risk you take, and you have to live with the consequences. No matter what happens though, you have to take that risk. Better to know than to always wonder in vain for years to follow. Laying here looking out the window as the trees sway in the wind, I picture her face and lose myself in her scent. The piercing nature of her eyes. The way they gaze deep inside. Even as a thought, she captivates me like no other. But what good are thoughts compared to the real thing. She’s out there as I write this. Maybe she knows, maybe she doesn’t. If she were to read this, maybe she would understand. How would she know I was writing about her though? Surely it would be obvious, but I’ve always been one for riddles. Even when I try being honest, it somehow comes out like a painting by Picasso.

Sometimes, it feels so good to be alive. Even when there’s sadness, to simply breath in and out is enough to know that it’s all worth it. Life can be so beautiful at times. The love and laughter I’ve witnessed, the joy I’ve tasted. The sensation of bliss that you get wrapped up in. All I want is to be happy. No melodrama. No secrets. No silence. They’re enemies of love and happiness for sure, and I’m too old for that crap. I’ve learned from my mistakes, and never again will I keep things under lock and key. Keeping things within will only destroy you in the end.

If I could, I would tell everyone the truth. I would write down my feelings for them to see in black and white. Surely that could only be a good thing. Surely that’s the right thing to do. No regrets. Even if people didn’t feel the same, even if you upset some with your honesty, you would never again say ‘what if’. It really should be that easy. But for some reason, it never is. Lack of guts, or fear of upsetting the equilibrium. It makes my head hurt just thinking about it.

So instead, I light a cigarette and look through old photo albums. The days make me smile. Beautiful people, beautiful memories. Moments in time, when everything was golden. Life should always be like this. No holding back, only the truthful glow of desire. The dazzling eyes of a lover as she looks back at you, bedsheets wrapped around your entwined bodies. Every single second should be appreciated. Tell everyone the secrets of your heart. Let them know, that without them, your life would be a pale imitation of something quite dreadful.

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