The funny thing about happiness is that you’d never believe it’s invisible. When I was younger I used to dream for hours, of singing larks and haleleuas, of smiles so bright they burnt through your skin. But strangely enough, I never gave it a face. I had this idea, this theoretical concept, of a feeling that had been taught. And in moments I believed I had discovered it, but still I couldn’t quite track it down. I saw only random lines, moving squggles, a hand dancing too fast across the page so I missed every word keeping track of the letters. But this abstract thing, it became real. It became something worthy of capture. It became a dream a promise, a shooting star hope. And I allowed this to happen because I was afraid. Because I did not like the colors I saw in front of me. Because for years I thought if I just plotted the escape, I could magically divine a place to run to. It turns out it is not so simple. I had escaped, but I still felt trapped. I had never in my life felt so invisible. Trying to be a person took up all my energy. No matter how badly you may want to leave yourself behind, erase away enough and you’ll have nowhere to start. I took the colors out of my hair. I didn’t do gymnastics. I didn’t have anyone who knew how to save me. And the me in my head and the me in the world felt so tangled, the wrong notes from different songs trying to out play the other. How could I express myself in words without giving away everything I wanted to hide. My skin felt like a raincoat. The tears soaked through and drowned my heart. And then I went away and I stumbled on a fantasy. A place in 21st century America embroidered with genuine peace and love. Camp Bisco changed everything. I had never even allowed myself to dream that such an enchantment could be part of real life. That there were people out there who also weren’t satisfied. People who knew the risks and worked around them, who managed to live harder faster, clinging to the edge. And suddenly I understood what you said. About rapidly burning through all your life force. About moving through space and time with a purpose, a sense of engagement. Not feeling like a pawn but the hand of the master. Lifestyle design. A few pieces of paper melted in my mouth and I saw the world as it is, without any expectation. This was what I wanted. I wanted to be experienced. I found my happiness in the fullest of rooms, bursting with life and dance and intoxicating energy. I no longer felt too small. Even as hundreds of people moved around me, everyone demanding space, I finally learned to fight back. I jumped and jumped until my lungs gave out. Until I was three rows away from the best and the brightest and I just put up my elbows and demanded a presence. I had just as much right to exist as anybody else. And as I kept buying tickets and swallowing pills, and blasting music and moving and breathing, I found a moment to think of you. I didn’t wonder if you were ok, because that wouldn’t be enough. I wanted to know if you were fucking ecstatic. If you were caught in some haphazard, mind bending ride of your own. I pictured us in our own separate orbits, bursting at the seams, with a blinding light that can’t shine forever. And the thought made me smile, because I thought you’d be proud at how far I’ve come. You will never be a memory. I carry you in my heart every day. How strange we had to part ways to discover all that this world has to offer. But now I know the secret. You are the master of your own universe. No one cares what you become a fraction as much as you do. It doesn’t matter that we are a generation lost by a failing economy and social networking. You can simply walk away, opt out, say thanks, but society’s idea of a fulfilling life is just not enough for me. The journey away from the center is one marred by the pain of betrayal. There is nothing that describes the loss of staring into the eyes of old friends and seeing only empty misunderstanding. Not everyone will follow. Our relationships are so precarious. Throughout my life, I had left behind so many people, usually just out of convenience or time, and I was never sure who in my present was truly there to stay. But I think I can count on you. You who has seen me in every sense of the word. I treasure that. I thought you might understand.

When you’re a little kid, the world just can’t turn fast enough. You can’t wait to grow up, have a job, start a family. You imagine yourself serving cookies for breakfast. Water slides every day, no bed time, no homework. Your parents laugh when you say it out loud. “You’ll change your mind about that when you’re older” They always sound so sure .Rules stacked up so tall you can’t even see over the top. At first you don’t mind so much, because the rules keep you safe. They create balance, something you can depend on. Everyone goes to bed at 8 pm on school nights. Everyone eats their broccoli to grow big and strong. Or at least this is what you assume because you don’t know any better. How could you? You were raised inside a bubble. You sit in a classroom while a man in a uniform tells you to never do drugs. They show you pictures of cancerous lungs. “Just one cigarette is enough to get addicted” he says. And you look around wide eyed at your classmates, wondering why. Why anyone would do such a silly thing like drink alcohol or smoke a cigarette. Not you, you think. You’re a good girl. A quick little buzz of an altered state just doesn’t seem worth the risks when you have such a nice family and you get such good grades. But then, as you get older, you start to notice how the rules aren’t working. How even though you studied for hours, the test is covered with only trick questions. You read the news and you see big headlines. USA GOES TO WAR. MAN MURDERS WIFE AND CHILDREN. So you try to make sense of it. It’s easier than rewriting the whole system. You start to ask questions, but there’s only one answer. “Sometimes life isn’t fair”. You take this into account. It becomes the key to handling disappointment. “Sometimes life isn’t fair”. School work is starting to take over your life. Millions of hours spent studying the battles of the civil war, or calculating imaginary electrical currents. And even as you put in the time and effort because really what else could you be doing, something isn’t right. At first it’s just this lingering cold, this resistance that fills your bones as you convince yourself to get out of bed. You suspect it will go away within a few weeks, but it doesn’t. Soon you feel it in your heart. When people yell at you it stings in a new way, a resounding echo of a gong in a room filled with air. From that echo, you catch the edges of words, skirting like spiders at the back of your skull. Matter. That’s what they’re saying. Something about matter. And you learn all the technical gibberish, about objects taking up space, but the definition doesn’t feel comprehensive. You know you are not made of matter. Otherwise you would feel more solid. You’re bones are made of silk scarves, and your skeleton is dancing, held up by strings. So you listen more closely, and your heart chokes and coughs up a sentence. THIS doesn’t matter. You are not sure what this is, exactly, but it seems to encompass everything. You feel trapped, but deep down you realize you have always felt this way. You just didn’t dare to dream of freedom. The doors at the front of the school are always unlocked. We could all just get up and walk outside. There are no alarms or cages are stopping you. It’s only in your head. You go to college thinking things will be different. You are finally on your own, away from all that coddling. People don’t seem to expect very much of you. They hand you an excuse for why you’re still not happy, why you’re still not having fun. “I’m adjusting” you say. But even after a few months you still don’t feel adjusted. The people who surround you aren’t exceptional. They’re not especially kind or warm or welcoming. Aloneness takes on a new meaning. You become your moving feet. But then something remarkable happens. You take a chance on an adventure. You swallow a piece of magic paper and the ground becomes alive. It brings you back to your childhood self, this illumination of innocent laughter. You remember why you wanted to grow up so fast. It’s a combination of words you haven’t put together in years, and it feels deliciously foreign spilling from your tongue. It was so you could do whatever you wanted. No rules. Total freedom. And the purity and simplicity of that revelation is overwhelming. Tears pour from your eyes and you sink to your knees and your mouth just can’t stop laughing. You are here. You are an adult making decisions, disregarding the world you know. And not just for now, but for always. That’s the best part. The sense of control hums inside your very core, an everlasting melody. If you know how to make yourself happy, the rules don’t really matter. The point is there is no point. The only aspiration worth having is for meaningful experience. And even though you are ecstatic in light of this new discovery, you have to wonder what went wrong. How did the responsibilities and the unfairness flood over everything? In the moment, it seems so ridiculous. You chalk it up to a glitch in the system. Maybe you are special. Maybe for most people the race trumps happiness, trumps freedom. It’s terrifying to unravel the blanket of your history. To go back and see yourself struggling, yanking so hard on all the wrong threads, weaving the picture that came with the instructions. Let go, you think. You have rediscovered the dream from before you were marred by all the worlds’ tragedies. And the prospect of growing up, of all the mountains and mountains of time you have stretched in front of you becomes enchanted, flushed with a magic that catches in your mind. You are the master of your own universe. Paint yourself a picture where fear is unwelcome. Here is a world, entirely of your creation. What could be better than actually living in it?

if the two of us met again for the first time I really hope you would like me I hope you could look into my eyes and see someone fascinating the girl who illuminates every room a radiation of rainbow color there's a lightness in my heart that has replaced all that aching a silver lining stitched in where I only saw grey i thought just because you wouldn't say it aloud anymore, that meant you didn't mean it that love just like flowers blooms and blossoms and shrivels into brown dried weakness, crush able, unrenewed but i was wrong i didn't know how to look at the world through a window i saw it too widely, too many other eyes looking over my shoulder but now, in that faded evening purple, i realize words aren't always enough that sometimes a phone call where you were so sure i'd answer at three in the morning is more than enough to let me know how you feel and though the words may carve letters in my chest may hide inside of tear drops, reflecting softly at the bottom it's ok i know better now i saved my tears this time i smiled and i laughed and i meant every word you were hurting and you called me it doesn't matter what we didn't say i always think about the last time i saw you how i collapsed into your chest, just melted and made you carry me i was a burden you already had a broken wing it wasn't your fault and it wasn't mine but you couldn't shoulder my sadness and that's why you stayed away you say you're worse but i don't know if i believe you i think you must be ok you wouldn't have called otherwise i think it would have hurt you to let me down but i hope i can see you soon all i want is an hour a conversation about the meaning of life and maybe one last kiss so i can taste the words you wont say and swallow them forever