she kept the diary, not the other

i would never say happiness is overrated. it is the spark in the darkness, however fleeting, but always with highest hopes for its giddy rushing return.

but then in that, it is all a matter of perspective. because you are right in the sense that happiness does not, can not and will not last. there is no permanent state of happiness because permanence makes us numb to ebb and flow. even if we fall madly perfectly in love and nail the perfect career and we're amazing and brilliant and flawless, we would never stop. we don't. the brain doesn't allow that. it's always teetering on the brink of something it can never ever attain, always taste but never touch.

so then, really, speaking from the depths of the sadness that everyone knows, always remember and feel the little things. the sparks before that brink. because they are happiness and they are real, but they cannot stay. they flitter and you smile.

but, truly, i would never say any of this to diminish what you feel. just trying to share the memory of lightness, while i am currently teetering (because i am denying this night and this doubt and will declare right now brilliant, and so the perfect place to teeter.)

p.s. you are read, and you are heard, and you are loved, and you are not alone in anything.