at odd moments i catch myself surveying the scene in the hopes of finding a potential someone.

then, in the heady mob of heaving bodies, one feels inexplicably lonesome and for lack of a better word, empty. this was not the way i'd envisioned myself; it was plain old fun, surely. the music inane though irresistible, the body relinquishing the week's stress. but each trip to the dance floor harbored an irrational grain of hope, always. i don't want to keep returning to a scene like this over and over again. demeaning. contrived. impossible. 


horrific to think about - would my years ahead be filled with more of this? 

because it always starts the same, prolonging the wistful hope over the duration of the night, and inevitably ending with a leaden heart that implode a little more each time.

happiness is many things.

it is going grocery shopping with the partner.

a homecooked meal with everyone present.

that everyone finds time for each other.

watching your sister grow up (though this one's a double-edged sword.. i just want her to retain a child's innocence but it slips away more and more each year)

reading a really good book filled with sentences that tongue your soul just right

doing nothing, simply lying in bed, head on his chest and listening to his heartbeat.

perhaps happiness is really just knowing that you have someone with which to bury your soul and all its myriad of troubles, worries, secrets.