Happiness is defined recursively.
I just learned that
a part of the definition of happiness
is to keep being happy over and over and
over
and that’s why experiencing it in bursts isn’t enough.
Momentary happiness isn’t happiness

“Let it be known that I was here!” 

you scream and shout to those around you

and the heavens themselves respond:

Very well. 

and the ground rises around your feet and accepts the impression of your soles into itself

and the wind carries your weary breath to distant places

and the stars pledge to tell your stories for as long they shine.

But all you can think of is burning your name into the minds of those who, like yourself, are only visitors here.

Do not forget that those minds, too, will fade

Time might bind you, Time might scare you, Time might stop you, 

but Time won’t forget you

I want so badly to create, but something gets lost in that place between the spirit and the hand. The room is there in my mind, but the words I use to describe it lack its color, its rhythm, its — its —   . The delicate turn of a hand is so clear behind my eyes, but before them the pencil wavers. I can frame the scene perfectly and the excitement registers in an instant with a click of a button, shot out from the tip of my finger, recorded in a single beat, but so much is lost in that 1/250th of a second.

It’s a shame. All of that space back there, locked away in the realm of the ephemeral.

Inspiration

Weather you keep me awake in the moonlight

or keep me dreaming at sunrise, 

I beg of you, 

just keep me.

Tin Foil

I am foil. 

I’m protecting something. Maybe hiding it. 

You need me to find what you’re looking for, 

but it ends with you peeling me away. 

I am a foil. 

I am what you’re looking for.

I am scrutinized and analyzed and hypothesized about— 

relevant until the protagonist has

unwrapped the tin foil in my hands.

I am a mirror.

I am you, but only until you aren’t there.

I am me, but only once you’ve turned away,

your eyes fixed on the prize

that you unwrapped from the

tin foil now in shreds on the ground.

I am the reflected light, the semblance, the memory, the image

of you leaving the room, 

satisfied.

Palindrome