“Play something happy.” I say, leaning back against the bed. I’m tired. I’ve had enough of broken hearted love songs and sad songs of people who’ve died. But Raven adores them. Raven likes sad songs. The emotion behind them, the truth about the world she thinks they hold. “Most love songs are actually breakup songs, unrequited love songs or songs about loves that have died.” She says. According to her, everybody can understand heartbreak, but not everybody can understand “Happy Love” because not everybody has felt that. This is also the logic Raven uses to explain why movies like Annie Hall and Romeo and Juliet were such big hits.
“What type of happy?” She asks, turning down Katy Perry’s voice sadly singing “The One That Got Away”. Leave it to Raven to categorize types of happiness.
“What are types of happiness?” I ask. “There’s just happiness.” I say and stretch out my legs on the bed.
“No there isn’t. There’s “Therapist gave you a birthday cake” type happy and there’s “Subtle, warm hot chocolate happy.”” She says. Only Raven would classify happiness with those types of labels.
“What song would “Therapist gave you a birthday cake” happy?” I ask. “”Don’t Stop” from Glee.” She says, and I know exactly what she means. We both sit still and I know we can both hear the explosively happy lines in our heads from “Don’t Stop.”
“Don’t! Stop! Thinking about tomorrow...”
I sit for a while before asking-“What would subtle happiness be?”
I think Raven will pick some song like “Payphone” by Maroon 5. A song with a fast beat but a sad story, which Raven plays over and over again because it makes her smile. Raven’s attraction to sadness, also spurns an attraction to cynicism, which she practices as much as she can.
“You know this won’t work, right?” She said, after our first kiss. “Why not?” I asked. She looked like a wilted flower or a pouting child. “Because…” She says, searching for a reason or trying to convey the enormity of reasons why. She put on the face that made me love her, the face Cassandra wore when she watched the fall of Troy. There was no satisfaction at knowing you were right about something as dismal as this, no matter how right you were in how wrong it would end.

“Jump Up Behind Me” by James Taylor” She says. “I like it better than “Don’t Stop”” She says and slowly reached toward my hand. “Nicer to feel love, than rather just look toward tomorrow.” She whispers. She leans against me.
“It felt like a festival, and it felt like a Christmas morning...” she sang.
“Yeah,” I whispered. “I like it better too.”