a bright army follows you even now

Whenever there is a moment where someone else's happiness makes you crumple upon yourself, you need to be furious—a fire—a force of thought. You need to remove whatever entitlement your sadness spits to lend. The insect in your head cracks so loudly, and you wander under its dusk song. But this does not sing out—only calls you out alone. Know this weight, but do not throw it further than already held.

And here, the happiness of another cannot break you down, but cast life. Forgive yourself of crooked rings—the far violence of a planet, the stinging tree—emboldened with your important bruises. You are not scar upon scar upon an end, but such a shape of love.

If ever happiness feels sharp, please be strong. We see your bruise. We see your colour. We are coming. We are coming.