There is somthing about it; having the brisk air slamming accross the sides of your cheek bones. The loud wind that sounds of the static that burns accross the screen at extreme high volumes. I want to close my eyes but the on coming head lights glare off the tears that have welted up in my eyes creating a hypnotic image, they all link together and appear almost as the christmas lights that fall over the frame of your roof. I come up with scenarios inwhich result in my death due to this. I am completely aware that if I let go the wind will carry me away. It is like my life is in his hands. I grasp a little tighter as I feel his heart beating just as fast as mine is. I want more. I cannot get enough.
The quality or state of being happy; good fortune, pleasure, contentment, joy. The ability to laugh out loud. Smiling at the site of something small. Pumpkin spice lattes. Sitting on roof tops. Girls nights. Wine. Salt water. Peanut butter cookies. Watching your favorite band live. Smiling at the thought of something. Cuddling. Late night bike rides. Tacos. Friends that turn to family. A job you look forward to going in for. Lingerie. Cinnamon swirl candles. Riding on the back of a motorcycle. Screaming a song with your best friend when it comes on the radio. Waking up next to the person you like. Marine layers. Christmas lights. Surprise parties. The smell of rain. Mani/pedis. Happiness is the ability to look past the stress and smile.
Entering a loud, chaotic room is prefered by few. Walking through a space that is cluttered with bodies sharply moving as their mouths blurt out obsceneties could be considered something along the lines of dredful. Passing along sticky floors while booze if dripping off fingers of these unclear figures. Terrifying. That is my home. Not exactly my residence but they say home is where the heart lies anyways. It was a little past two in the morning when I zoomed through the residential neighbor and barely parked before I ran through the front door. Ecstatic. Even after a long eight hour work shift, sleep was the last thing on my mind. I wanted the comfort of my friends. My family. From the court yard I hear loud laughter, slurred hollering, and a dance remix of a Kings of Leon song. Home. The quick greetings and mutual excitement uopn my arrival radiated off their liqour soaked breath. Reassurance. Drinking rootbeer vodka from the bottle, it was about to be another good night.
“The Heart is a lonely hunter with only one desire! To find some lasting comfort in the arms of anothers fire…driven by a desperate hunger to the arms of a neon light, the heart is a lonely hunter when there’s no sign of love in sight!”—Carson McCullers, The Heart is a Lonely Hunter