It wasn’t the fault of the bench or the insensitivity of a premature winter sunset. I don’t blame the cheerful people filling all the open spaces, cutting off every avenue for escape. Logically, I can’t hold the cold night air accountable for failing to clear my mind while I sat on my favorite bench. For a moment, I did raise my eyebrows at God. I know better, in these occasional hours of distress, than to ask for happiness. Happiness is far too trivial an emotion to do any real good. Happiness- can I be frank here?- perhaps it’s overrated. No, what I most thirst for when internal chaos is making it hard to breath is not a sip of air, but a full lung- an emotion deep enough to meet me where I am and respond. Happiness might see the silver lining; I desperately need to see the gold of this whole hurting.
From slumber, I awoke in the morning
To the sweetest sadness
A vision of the unreachable ideal-
While sleeping, I moved through the veil
It still floated in my mind after waking
And the loss of this will surely be
My Ache and my Longing
For the many years of momentary trial.