I want to write it all down

Because happiness

Deserves preservation

Happiness

Flickers with fireflies in a mason jar

Sits with succulents in a pot

Falls with rain on a roof

Happiness

Rests in the words about him

Or it would

If I could untangle those words

Make them sturdy and sensical––

Real words

Not these butterflies

Still in my stomach.

 

I want to fill pages

And read them aloud

To the girl

I was before

The girl who made lists of her failures

Rejections, bulleted

Bullets––who held the trigger?

Insecurities pinned up like anatomy labels

Decorating her body.

The girl who craved soft hands

But couldn’t let herself fall

Too far

Watching everything

From beyond a window

Through the pools

Of her timid breath

Fogging the pane

Pain––from what?

The girl who loved from such a distance

That only her echos were recognizable

Unrecognizable.

 

I’d read that girl a story

About the boy

Who pulled her in

And held her dark skies, softly

Revealing the little things about her

That she herself ignored.

He made her believe in impossible things––like herself

Like him

Him liking her

Like the nights they shared

Carrying each others thoughts

Placing them on a windowsill

Side by side

Next to the potted succulent

Through the cracked pane––pain, cracked

For the stars to taste

And celebrate.

 

And I want to tell that boy

That he is beautiful

In every possible way

Except maybe,

In the way I write about him.

I wish I could do better

But it is just so hard

To write

About happiness.