Another letter, but to Happiness this time

You sneaky, sly, conniving little bastard. Every time I think I’ve understood you, the carpet is yanked from under my feet and I’m scrambling once again.  I guess, by definition, you could’ve never been a constant. The moment you settled your bones, everything ceased to make sense. There’s a special kind of chaos that births from peace; the past lies indistinguishable from the present. Numb. Nothing.  What are you? Who are you? I’ll laugh a mirthless laugh, yet I laugh nonetheless. I suppose that’s a statement in itself.

Weren’t you proud of me? I searched for you more than you’d ever know. It was fruitless, yet my heart soared with every stray breadcrumb you scattered along the trail. The little things, they’d tell me. I’d tell them. Focus on the little things. Have you ever given us something more? It was almost cruel, the way our fingers would entwine but never touch; the barest sliver of an infinitesimally large space tearing us apart. 

I adored you back then. When I’d see you in the sunlight, in laughter. When you promised me every single star embedded in the night sky. Back when we’d find each other in embraces and love was always, always with you. Love, I’ll whisper to you, maybe I never understood you in the first place.

 I’m not sad, but I can’t tell you that I’m happy either. Because really, I don’t know what happiness is. Not in the usual sense, things are changing too rapidly for that. I don’t know what quantifies happiness. You shifted with every step I took towards you, how could I have kept up? In a mind filled with kaleidoscopic memories, shapes and patterns blur into iridescent swathes of color. What are you? Who are you? Me neither. That makes the two of us.

I see you now. Sometimes, in the silence of baking. Needing. In the drops of water on my palettes. In words and pages and books, in the serenity of Just Lying There. In myself. That’s a first, isn’t it? I see your shadow. You’re not invincible, you know. I’ll catch you like I always have- in fleeting, clandestine glimpses.

My Love, it belongs to you. This time I’ll promise you no chains, never again. Maybe I’ve got it all wrong, but if you love something,