Splintered

e p i g r a p h

❝What does happiness feel like? he asks me.
Like warmth. I say.

You can't be happy while you're cold? He looks confused.

Like simplicity. I explain.

Happiness isn't ever hard? He asks. It isn't ever complex?

Like success. I try. Like achievement.

Can't you stay happy in the face of failure? He looks worried.

Like softness. I say. Like gentleness. Like a tornado bursting through you; like a volcano erupting. Happiness, I say, feels like gladness to be alive. It feels like, blanket forts and daisies, and sunshine and rainstorms, and old books and hidden bookstores. But I'm struggling. He opens his mouth.

But no, that's not it. I say.

What does happiness feel like? he asks. Like being loved, I tell him, and he's finally silent.

Like loving and being loved in return.❞

— Sue Zhao (via blossomfully on Tumblr)