In between
I used to think happiness was a distant shore, a place beyond the waves of sorrow, where the sand was never damp with tears, where the sky never carried the weight of storms.
But happiness was never a horizon waiting to be reached— it was the flicker of candlelight in a darkened room, the echo of laughter against hollow walls, the way the sun still bled gold onto the water, even as the tide pulled everything away.
Sadness was never an iron cage, nor was joy a key. They ebbed and flowed like the changing seasons, carved into the hush of passing days—soft, fleeting, real.
And so I ask, was I ever happy? Yes. A thousand times, yes. Not in the absence of sorrow, but in the spaces in between.
Posted Mar 8, 2025, 12:50 PM UTC
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