Happiness

Here's something new, still staying away from the angsty whining.


I feel full of music, or happiness, or something. I can't hold it all in my heart. There's little cracks, stretched seams, where the feeling is leaking out. It drips out of my heart, down into my arms, and I fling them out, letting the excess fling off my fingertips into the world. It's fun, I suppose. I dance with it, I sing with it, I drive other people crazy. I keep it full of music and colors and people, it flows fast, insatiably greedy though bottomless to share.

I suppose I'm terrified of it.

Later, I turn on Edith Piaf. La Vie en Rose. I sit with my chin at the windowsill and mouth words I don't understand. The glowing remnants of the sunset are somewhat promising, and the whole world seems exciting.