Happiness

I have come to realize that the most tender thing is not pain, but happiness. 

So random, so elusive, an intangible wisp in the void. 

I can't control how long it stays, before it 

leaves, like the foggy residue of a dream in the morning, 

reaching, grasping onto it 

but not quite. The more you think it, over-

think it, the faster it slips away, away, away.

Lana Del Rey was right. It's a butterfly,

impossible to catch with all the elbow grease and grimace

but maybe if you stop trying, maybe if you

hold your hand out and let the expectations fall away

it'll land on your tender

finger for a few seconds longer than the

last.

 

elise.writer

VT

16 years old

More by elise.writer

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    fell in a rhythmic order, one that your silence

    carried in. did you hate me?

    you'd never say so. so blindly, i never changed.

  • sunday nights

    sunday nights are my own.

    old music in the corners of my mind

    pen scratches on paper, ten thousand poems

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    little golden lights, 4 walls

    that mirror my soul.