Saturday, 21.January 2017

β€œβ€˜I just want to be happy’, she said. Then she cried. Because for years now she had tried and failed to catch it, to hold it, to keep it. She searched for happy. She set up camp. And she watched and waited, it’s absence amplified by her impatience. […]


She felt it on the beach, like waves around her feet. Swelling, breaking, receding. Swelling, breaking, receding. And she ran the length of the shoreline with a sieve in hand but didn’t seem to understand that simply would not do.

Β 

And so she sat, defeated, wondered, β€˜Why is it so fleeting? And why do all these awful feelings seem to linger? Why have I, for some reason found a way to keep them, even bottled them and labelled them and stored them on the shelf? So I could torture myself? So I could open them and drink them down and spend the morning bed bound, incapable of even simple things?’

And there it is. […]

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From the corner of her eye she spots it, elusive, shy, it has a way of stopping by, a welcome guest that never makes a fuss. That waits till you don’t care to come and make it’s home there, in the simple things. […]
The deep lungful of salty air that she takes in. And holds. And exhales.

[…]
And she sees it is as it should be; a comedy, a tragedy, sometimes both, sometimes in between. And yes, happiness is fleeting but it comes and goes and comes back again. And you don’t get to tell it when.

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Now she sits beside it on the hill. It grazes quietly while she sits still and resists the urge to reach out and touch it. Sometimes she lies in the sand, lets the waves wash over herand knows, that the tide ebbs and flows. And flows. And flows.β€œ

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Text by Hazel Hayes
Happy.

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