I experienced something happy. And like any other experience in life, it’s sometimes difficult to pinpoint exactly what/who had made it happen. So here are some ideas.

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I had a dream. And in that dream I was happy. It felt like waking to a summer morning knowing I would hike all day in the Cascades with my mother. It was more like drinking a glass of green tea with three pieces of ice inside bumping against each other. Walking through a short breeze. A simple poem of simple words, maybe. A dedication. A midnight drive. A pair of jazzy hands moving across the keyboard somewhere, I know. A sleepless night turned into a sunrise, into a bright day that shone onto my white curtains. Inside an empty cathedral and I was calm, and I didn’t care. Inside all those thoughts of mine that gave no answer. It was like singing in a shower. Revisiting a city. Taking a bath in a hotel in Budapest, and remembering that I was alone, and sober. Remembering, and continued to remember all the little things. Like the first kiss, and the last goodbye. The tears in her eyes that were true. The tears in my eyes that were true, too. A lecture. A photograph I took. Being in a fog with someone. And finding a piece of art that nobody knew. It was when words expressed were understood. When I completed a book and held it close to my chest to feel the after effect. When I completed anything. It was also TV watching at eleven thirty. Then turning the TV off and shutting everything down. When I slept with no reason. And woke up to no reason, no purpose, no sense of life, just a yawn, a scratch on my head, a rub in my eye. Waking up to a dream. To real life, with a feeling, with a hunch, that was nice and smooth. My heart beating to a new rhythm of certainty when I knew something had changed, forever. When I trembled within while I stood still. When everything loops back to square one. When it was another dejavu with a keener and kinder touch. When it may just be another dejavu, but better.