Some days I feel like I’m on cloud nine.
All of the scenarios I planned in my head
go through just as they should.
I’m flying through the air,
too high to care about the fall.
Smiling and laughing and playing
and hoping and forgetting and dreaming.
And then I get back home and
I realize that nothing had really changed.
The pain hadn’t gone away,
it had just been masked.
My cup was still so very close
to being empty,
even though it was just so full.
I’m still tired and I’m still angry.
I was happy a moment ago,
but now I’m questioning if
happiness is something I’ve ever really felt;
or rather, something I’ve made up in my head
in order to give myself the strength to keep going.
Was that laugh that overcame me
really as pure as I believed it to be?
Was that tug on my heart
really love pulsing through me?
Or was it just my imagination?
How can I have one cup so FULL,
yet so empty at the same time?
Am I allowed to appreciate the happiness,
even though I have so much indignation inside?
How can this be so?
Life is so amazing and bright
and marvelous and alluring,
yet so daunting and fearful
and jealous and painful.
Here I am.
Holding one cup,
yet I can’t decide
if it’s full or empty.
The contradictory cups.
Just another puzzle to solve.