One time I was walking. Possibly back from work. Possibly taking one of my daily strolls. I remember being so absorbed by my own world. I remember it vividly and vaguely at the same time.

[Stumbling through the light. Others have excuses. I have my reasons why. With so much deception it’s hard not to wander away.]

I was on Rose St. The sun was about to set, I was looking to the sky. And suddenly I felt happy. Sometimes when these moments of happiness swept over me I would cry. I didn’t this time. I could have. But I didn’t need to. At least not at first. Then I realized I so rarely felt this way.

I could remember a time when I felt this way all the time. Mom asked me to describe it to her. And why I couldn’t feel that way now. I hated it when she asked me those kinds of things. It always made me cry. I hated her too. Why couldn’t I just be happy? I’m pretty sure I resented everything about life, and everyone in it. Why couldn’t I just be happy?

I savored that moment. I hugged myself and took a deep breath, walked with my eyes closed. I felt the wind on my skin, pieces of my hair wrap around my face and neck. The birds sang and the trees swayed. And everything was beautiful. I don’t think it was genuine happiness. But it was as close as happiness got right then. I wanted to lay down and feel that way just a little longer. But it slips away.

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