Happy
I used to write. Well. Found some of my old work, under stacks of half written piano spatters and violin exercises. I almost didnt recognize it as my own. Had I not remebered flashes of moments, which inspired the writing, I wouldnt have a clue.
I used to really feel things, not just experience them. I used to care. Lately I feel hollow and light, devoid of deep, and painful emotions. Am I unable to feel? Worry presents itself over mundane things. The most useless yet costly of all emotions. Anger bubbles up, but, even it, loses steam.
It then occured to me, the main reason that I cant write of misery or heartbreak. I don't feel them. Not over past relationships, nor of self hatred.
Basically, I'm happy.
Sure I get frustrated. It's easy to write about those days. On happy days, I forget to write. Im too busy enjoying myself. I have a safe home, family and friends I love. My family of pets. I have work I enjoy, and aim to make it a more sustainable form of self sufficiency.
I am fit again, and healthy. I spend my time learning, practicing, working, exercising and spending time with those who bring me joy.
I've learned to love myself, despite days of doubt. Spending time alone is no longer a fearful option. I look forward to each moment of personal time.
My future is in my hands, and mine alone. I cant imagine a more powerful emotion.
Perhaps I could write of joy, but who ever wants to read that. ;)