I will be happy.
I will find peace.
I see the thick, green grass;
I am intoxicated with
The fresh air,
That line both my mouth, and of those
That I know will love me.
I see in my
Mind’s eye, those that will cherish me and that will know
That true love,
Is not something expendable; to be
Discarded as thoughtlessly as
I will… then,
Be the person I’ve always waned to be.
But now, at moments like this:
That it was always in my head,
That pain is inextricable from reality,
And that happiness is not some place in the future,
That it is learning to accept the darkness and the light both
And within the world.
But one mustn’t settle, shall they?
Or perhaps they should?
Is it not natural for men to be propelled forward by change, growth, and betterment?
Is contentment attainable with such a restless heart?
Is this the heart, that we, that all of us share?
“Ella vive en las tramas de novelas.”
She lives in the plots of novels.
Yet deeply avoiding
The laws of reality,
with which she is so intimate.