how do you possibly explain the kind of joy that bubbles out of moments of utterly profound melancholy? a well flows over and washes away superficial forms of happiness to replace them with a love of all things beautiful, so that even moments of absolute misery echo like the chime of a bell across the strings of a well-tuned heart. even in my sadness, i have found pearls, and i am never lost to my despair.
this is what i have never understood: why we prescribe happiness like a sedative, a finality that we are all rushing towards, a cloak of smiles meant to placate the masses. i find ecstasy in my heartache only because it is so desperately beautiful i feel i might explode with it.
i want the value of pain, sorrow, horror, to go undiminished, to substantiate every well-earned and genuine smile. to feel sadness so exquisitely that it becomes an art in itself, an act of expanding the bounds of what happiness can encompass. nothing is stable and to rely on any thing as though it is true enough to provide a buttress to your uncertainty is to fall endlessly through the cracks in the floor.
allow heartache to erase the lines that define you. become substance, evade form, merge with all the possibilities life presents that are without names, prescriptions, miscommunications. expand endlessly, touch all that has yet to be touched and find comfort in the knowledge that there are no architects here.