one of my most cherished (and brilliant) friends and i have endless conversation about what it means to be happy, how happiness or the feeling of “content” is even achieved in the first place, in a polarized world void of the colors that lie in between. we wonder if enough is ever really “enough,” chained in the prison of our own minds. the grass is always greener on the other side and we yearn to “do better” (whatever the fuck that means).
we jump from feeling “happy-go-lucky”, that lightness we want so badly to maintain, to feeling empty, sad because the worlds a disaster (and our lives feel like it too).
we chase the highs, mourn our lows, silence dispersed in between for all the times weve struggled too much to speak.
sometimes i think ive run out of things to say to the world. other times, i hold deep in my heart the things i wish to say, but then i remember that the things i want to say dont matter.
its all so pointless sometimes, isnt it? moments that are supposed to matter forgotten, while that offputting comment made at you – mocking – it live rentfree.
does everyone else view happiness as walking on eggshells? one wrong song, one unwarranted statement – everything id treated as fact, shattered by such minor happenings.
“dont let me drown.”
who am i supposed to be? where am i supposed to be?
is this my life? what the fuck am i supposed to do with it?
am i on the side of greener grass already?
maybe the green, green grass is suffocating me. maybe i cant read my hearts desire, handicapped by the coulda’s, woulda’s, shoulda’s.