could you look me in the eye and tell me that you're happy now

[day fifteen: something that makes you happy]

i find this ironic. it's not really important why.

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"when was the last time that you were happy? really, completely, incandescently happy?"

i think of everything that i find beautiful that i shouldn't: broken glass, bruises, and the sound of sobbing.

i think of my first birthday party and my second and my third, fourth, fifth, seventeenth. blow out the candles and make a wish. can you even remember what you wished for when you turned six? did it come true? does it matter? wishes tend to leave you emptier, poorer, and in the dark.

i think of a balloon i had once. a big, blue, shiny one. it was tied to my wrist, but i was nervously pulling at the ribbon, and it escaped. i would too if i were a balloon.

i think of my third grade class and i can't remember any of them. i think of the people i met yesterday. i can't remember them either.

i think of the ocean and how it makes me want to jump in and run away and fly and cry for weeks and weeks and weeks. how many painters waste their days by the ocean making recreations that no one will ever look at, no one will ever buy?

i think of dinner last night. i was so excited to eat that i burned my tongue. i couldn't taste anything properly after that. dishes are piling up in the sink. they can't taste the food properly, either.

i think. and i think. and i think. and i think that may be the problem.

"no."

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i could have just said family. or chocolate. or a good book.

i should probably go back to bed.

*Are You Happy Now? - Michelle Branch