I felt happy the other day, truly happy.
The joy came from being apart from everything, everyone who knows of the ache in my chest.
It felt ingenuine to allow the happiness in, to feel together with people who barely know me past my last name, yet…
I drove away shaking, literally shaking with joy.
I was myself separate from all of my parts and the past and the baggage of everything.
It scared me. How could I feel joy with this heaviness settled into my bones?
Who am I if not *this* and that and the other?
Fleeting as it was, it left me with hope — hope that one day things will feel different.
One day, I will take a train away from all of *this* to see the sun rise fresh over a scar of blue tapestry.
So It Goes 