Happiness

Like my heart, I watch my hand leap in front of me grasping for what is right before my eyes, only to pull back a fist full of air. Nothing of sustenance or anything solid - so I drift around, floating between thoughts - from one to another seeking the other half of me, when I should already be complete. Yet the hole that's there grows and becomes full of nothing.

I want to take it back. I want to take back my blissful ignorance of my childhood years. Because in order to know Love, you have to know pain. But what Is one to do when the pain becomes more familiar than the love? When the desire to desire has died and the breath of life becomes too heavy to breathe?

I pretend to be happy. I pretend to be okay. I pretend and wear fake smiles that have even begun to fool me. Maybe if I wear this smile long enough it will become a permanent fixture.

After all, happiness is the gift of blindness when the picture has lost all its color.

By Andrew J. Dorsey
February 28, 2010 - 1:49 a.m.

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