I'm having this feeling. Strange unfamiliar feeling that is currently overwhelming me beyond any possible description.
I'm happy. I am so friggin' happy I think my head is about to explode. Oh, even if it explodes, each fragment will be a sunny yellow smiley, drawn on bits of sunny yellow paper. THAT, is how happy I am.
Instead of dreaming about explosions and apocalypse, I've been dreaming of bright green fields and winds whistling through pines on a mountain. Of vast, blue-green expanses of water and white sand. Of all I've ever wanted and could never have. It seems just within reach. As if I could reach out and touch it. I can. It feels like days and weeks and months and years are all drawing to, and converging at this one point in time. And it's not a dream. It is real, and I can't stop pinching myself just to make sure. It's real and everything is so darn perfect, it's almost scary.
Perfection is delicate. So insanely delicate it makes you want to weep for its beauty. It makes you want to stop time. It makes you wish you could. It makes you want to capture a piece of it in a tiny carved wooden box that you would carry with you forever. It makes you believe in hope and possibilities. And most of all, it shows you what it means to never give up, even in the face of unfathomably unfavorable odds. And in the end, what all of that is worth.
I'm happy. I am so friggin' happy I think my head is about to explode. Oh, even if it explodes, each fragment will be a sunny yellow smiley, drawn on bits of sunny yellow paper. THAT, is how happy I am.
Instead of dreaming about explosions and apocalypse, I've been dreaming of bright green fields and winds whistling through pines on a mountain. Of vast, blue-green expanses of water and white sand. Of all I've ever wanted and could never have. It seems just within reach. As if I could reach out and touch it. I can. It feels like days and weeks and months and years are all drawing to, and converging at this one point in time. And it's not a dream. It is real, and I can't stop pinching myself just to make sure. It's real and everything is so darn perfect, it's almost scary.
Perfection is delicate. So insanely delicate it makes you want to weep for its beauty. It makes you want to stop time. It makes you wish you could. It makes you want to capture a piece of it in a tiny carved wooden box that you would carry with you forever. It makes you believe in hope and possibilities. And most of all, it shows you what it means to never give up, even in the face of unfathomably unfavorable odds. And in the end, what all of that is worth.
2 comments:
Yes. Last sentence says it all. I'm so "friggin' happy" for you it's unbelievable :D
:D
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