I never write when I’m happy
Except for now, while I’m bursting
at the seams with gratitude.
like water running through the pipes of the soul.
I sat on the carpet beneath the Christmas tree
and soaked up the flickering of the lights,
brushed the lukewarm, balmy carpet
with my fingers
and felt comfort envelop me,
shower me with its kisses.
Past experiences will always remain,
the future will always feel foggy,
I’ll always grapple with the present.
I may look upon it all fondly,
but that doesn’t mean I need it.