Joy tastes like yellow and orange and green, and it feels like grass and laughter beneath my palms. It feels like firecrackers, like shared glances and hot dogs and grins held in reverence, the wonderful mischief we make together, of many and of much and of little made into enough and more than we can describe, and it says, "here we are. here we stand, here we stay, here we will be, and we will revel in it."
There is so much joy in this, this fragile existence, made of spun glass and hope balanced between contrasting ideas, ideals, hatred and not, but still persevering.
What a life this is.