I'd like to say that on some days, I feel so sad that the world around me feels hopeless, like all is lost.
But that would be untrue.
The problem is, sadness has become so familiar that it hardly occurs to me anymore that there's any other emotion, and I've grown to not mind the crocodile tears that freckle my bed sheets.
I'm scared that if I were face to face with happy, I'd not know how to act.
Happy is the second cousin 3 times removed that you've only heard of being bragged about at family parties, who drops in for a surprise visit.
I'd offer happy a brandy, and she'd say she didn't drink. Brandy is for people who are sad.
Happy would sit on your off putting orange futon, and not complain about the cluttered mess anxiety left the night before.
I'd anxiously twiddle my thumbs and teach the pencil on the table to fly across the room, or out the door, much like I'd like to.
Happy would look at me like a lost lover. Understanding, but full of pity.
Happy wouldn't dare overstay her welcome,
She'd leave to usher back in that familiar sadness.
But something about happy,
About the yellow laughter she'd use to paint each grey corridor,
About the undeniable feeling of being wanted,
About the love in her eyes,
Would make being with sad again,
feel so lonely.
I'd want happy back,
But you cant breathe a wilted daffodil back to life-
And that's why a visit from happy is more dangerous,
than a lifetime with sad.