the melancholy of something wonderful

It’s like being attached to a balloon, but with a dark figure on your back. You’re still rising, in fact you’re soaring. But there’s something in your periphery, something with hands around your throat to weigh you down. It’s the melancholy of something wonderful. The abundance of happiness so profound it makes you fearful. You’ve lent yourself out in return for these bounties and now you’re hoping, with all your might, that you don’t get robbed blind. You’ve become so afraid of losing what you’ve found that you’ve lost sight of the happiness. A foolish grief that’s borne of pure, distilled joy. So I’m choosing the joy.

It’s the irony of hoping for forever but wishing it were condensed into a drop. It simply won’t do to let it be rolled out before you like a red carpet. We must have it all and we must have it now. There simply is no time to waste in devouring this golden honey we’ve foraged. A foolish greed borne of sharp adoration. So I’m choosing the constant burn.

It’s an unparalleled clarity of thought. It’s knowing things that you thought you knew before in a way that makes it clear that you’ve never known anything at all. The feelings you thought were folklore manifesting in front of you. I could say it took you long enough but I’m just so happy you’re here. To be anything else would be a foolish pride borne of shards of heart. And so I’m choosing the gratitude.

Perhaps I’ll never be perfect. I’ll never say all the right things at all the right times. I’ve not been tempered over long slow heat, I’ll never shine and snap the way something refined would. Maybe I’ll always wish I was more. But that would be a foolish notion borne of fallacy. And so I’m choosing to be all that I am for you.

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