happiness.
the sort that comes from nothing,
from sitting among chaos with you
and only you.
the kind that fills the emptiness
left in the space where i feel nothing.

not temporary happiness,
not the fake, material happiness,
not happiness that can be measured and compared.
just pure, innocent happiness.
despite my empty, loneliness,
happiness.

the simple, wholesome happiness
that only you can bring.
quiet, nothingy happiness.
you.

i don't really have a name for
this happiness,
which seems so abstract and rare,

but i have decided to call it love.