Happiness is a fleeting thing, like dragonflies darting in and out of your view. They dance among the tall grass, glimmers of change in an otherwise static familiar.
But they let you catch sight of them, and you’re caught by the splendor. A burst of color snares your gaze, and disappears instantly into the swaying green.
But the warmth stays, a ripple of happiness through your field of emotions, and you end up looking for more dragonflies.
There I was, seated beside you, in a white room with a white table between us, blank white faces all around. There was color in the room, and it came from your smiling face, across the unappealing table.
I can’t figure out how we got there, but there we were. I said nothing, like always, and you were starting to get bored, like always.
“Let’s go,” you said, and all the words in my mind dissipated, waiting for our next date a few months down to manifest and simmer.
There were a line of houses, and it was a cool evening where we walked down the streets towards home. You looked upwards, craving release from the many things chained to you free spirit.
“Can I hold your hand?” I finally asked.
I paused as the words slipped from my mouth, and back into the recess of conversation I had meant to share.
So you sigh, like always, and take my hand in yours. I could feel your boney fingers locked in mine, moist and nervous. But I held your hand, and it felt nice. Finally.
But before the night was over, I would feel your lips - soft and gentle as I woke from sleep. I did not want to fall back into slumber, no. I sat there, a warm glow in my chest, remembering how I caught just one glimpse.
There they were, the dragonflies,
Blazing through the twilight skies.
If you follow, once or twice,
They will let them in your sights.
How they shimmer, how they tease,
As they leave you in your sleep,
Wishing more, yet no clue how,
Forgetting time, wanting now.
And as you lay there in your bed
Hoping they were real instead.
Making notes and writing words,
For when it comes, you’ll want them heard.