i used to think of happiness
as a destination.
some place you got after
working really hard.

you might have to endure a lot
to get there
but once you arrived you realize
it was worth it.

it took me too long
to see
happiness isn’t a place.
it’s a feeling

and if you get absorbed in
the idea of finally
reaching a point where you’re always happy,
you never will be.

looking back on pictures
the memories and moments
i swore I’d never forget.
all gone, all distant.

i smile when looking,
remembering the events of the day
or the time in my life
the picture took place.

but i don’t remember the joke that was told
that caused us to laugh hysterically
until we cried
and retold the joke for the next week.

i don’t remember the emotions i felt
moments before the photo
that i’m sure weighed on me
that entire day or week.

i can’t recall the song
we were singing and dancing to,
screaming at the top of our lungs
as the flash went off.

i'm not sure how long it took
for us to arrive at the destination,
or who complained the most
on the drive back home.

i wish I could capture everything from those days,
from those moments we already lost.
because now all i have is the cover of the book.
but when opened, there is no story to be told.

isn't it weird
how you can be in a room
full of people
and feel utterly
and completely
alone

i should be sleeping
it's 2:52
i shouldn't be weeping
or thinking of you

i can't help it
though i wish that i could
so here i sit
and i wish that you would

come over and tell me
you can't believe you didn't see it before
you realized how happy we could be
we'll have everything and more

but that's all in my head
i'm far too late
i lay back in my bed
and try to fall asleep at 2:58