Something happy

I want to write about something happy for once. Why can’t I fucking write something happy? I want to write about the way music makes me feel, the pure joy that rushes through me when pop music is performed live but then “pure joy” just doesn’t feel like it encapsulates how infinite I feel but then I think I use the word “infinite” way too much and then I feel like I can’t have an original thought to save my life and seriously, how many people have thought this exact same thing before.

I want to write about writing and the way developing complex stories make me feel and about the new one I’m diving into and how fun it is but then I think about what if it just stays on my computer forever and no one buys it and then I think I need to start containing my excitement for things and pacing myself when it comes to sharing so much.

I want to write about how I’m moving to New York for two months but then I wonder how I’ll spend those two months and what if I just end up curled up in my bed the entire time because I only know a handful of very busy people there and also how cliché is it to move to New York when you’re an artist and how little time two months is and how privileged I am to be able to do that and can I really call what I do art?

I want to write about love but I’m not doing love right now, I’m not even dating, I don’t even want to be dating, but I want the hugs and the back tickles and hot tea and that someone that forces me to make my birthday about me even though the remnants of toxic humility tell me not to but anyways, every time I write about love, I can’t help but stir it towards pain. The last love poem I wrote starts with “I woke up dead” and ends with “forever.” I swear I’m not unhappy though. I love my apartment, I love my friends, I love how writing has only been a regular in my life for a few months yet I can’t remember a time when it wasn’t, I love that I’ve got already at least 20 concert tickets for next year, I love that I’m leaving again and I love that I can’t wait to come back to my little piece of home.

I want to write about that kind of love.