I’ve come to the conclusion that some things just can’t be explained. I wondered if I lacked the vocabulary or the smarts to convey certain feelings and experiences, but now I’m thinking some things can only be felt, not documented.
My feelings have been larger than life in the last year – so big I can’t manage them effectively at times.
I’ve never known such happiness. When I dreamed of this kind of joy as a much younger me, I supposed it came along with a white picket fence, a husband, and a happy-ever-after. But it didn’t. It came quietly and suddenly, and it startled me as the warm glowing in my heart became comfortable and lasting.
Joyfulness is the status quo. Misery is fleeting.
It comes with a certain vulnerability, this glow. The fear is that a good strong wind will snuff it right out and leave me alone in the dark again. But the only way for it to grow is to open up and expose myself completely – such a scary thing.
Each time I reveal more of myself, the emotions overwhelm me, and my words disappear from my thoughts and from my lips. The only thing left is the feeling. God, it feels so good. It feels so damn good I think I’m going to explode, like a tight bud on a tree that bursts overnight into a colorful display of something lovely.
Surely it must be Love – that magical, elusive thing that artists have tried to capture on canvas, on film, in poems and in songs for thousands of years. And apparently no one has yet done it justice, because I’ve never seen or heard anything that can scratch the surface of my happiness.
No picket fence. No husband. No fairy-tale. Just Love.