happiness

Cursed.

Am I cursed?

Cursed to tie myself to people, swearing that they’re going to be different.

Only for resentment to grow like ivy, sentencing me to a place of discontent.

I’ve called it paranoia.

When I think of the color green, I think of the trees behind my school. In kindergarten, when kids were cruel and words hurt more than sticks or stones, the trees were there.

I made tea this morning.

I put the leaves in, watching the steam dance with childlike wonder.

I returned to my laptop, staring at a half finished chapter, the bags under my eyes more apparent than ever.