Some people live with the shadows of their mistakes eternally haunting them. Living in fear of the moment of an unexpected discovery of your own wrongdoings forces you to become distant, skittish. Scared, knowing that you tried. Knowing that you attempted to do the right thing is a different way to be. Living in forgiveness is great, but not needing to ask for forgiveness is much greater. I know this to be true. So why must I feel worthless as I fight for my natural rights as a human being. No person deserves to be abandoned or starved of anything from food and water to shelter and love. People have a need for social experience and for acceptance. It’s necessary for development, and for a person’s character. It’s important for happiness. People make each other happy. It’s simple. It’s a fact.
Happiness.
What even is it.
It’s supposed to be an obvious sort of feeling, good, warm, sunny-side-up that fills you up and forces you to burst open right at the smile.
Sitting here I imagine what it would feel like to be warm. To feel a ray of sunlight that isn’t just beaming light on my face but also shooting a stream of yellow sunlight straight through me. Igniting my bones, and my veins with this delightful, pleasant fire. Turning my blood from it’s usual angry red to a victorious gold. Just to feel anything besides the cold hard walls of neglect and rejection pushing against my skin. Locked these (word for self created) oppressions hold me down. A prisoner of my own mind, I wait.