(Image above by Helena Bergenrud)
This is one of those nights
You know, the kind you don’t want to end
The kind when the moon is your friend
I don’t want it to end
Songs love me
The music was vein blood
Rushing blue cold
Oozing brutally purple
Mineral of a human
I fucking loved it
When you have to get over joys
As if I’ve been wounded
I have to heal from my happiness
Pain from pain is easy to explain, to feel, to hate, to fear. An action considered an attack, harmful, or distructive is honest. But when joy feels like an assault, how does one recover? Happiness is a loss, not a means to an end. So it hurts more than it feels good.
Think of something that moves all the atoms and ghosts within. The ache of amped up energy alone can be paralyzing. That certain something that moves the soul is now associated with pain. I’ve stopped listening to certain songs, even albums, for that very reason. I have left a concert worse off emotionally than when I arrived because it was a perfect night.
Perhaps it’s some strange contradictory phenomenon. Or possibly positive emotional overload. Highs, orgasms, laughter, and the such are all fleeting, which is why in their own paradox they suck. In the before, during, and after of a happy moment, we know it will end. That dread that the gnat life span of feeling good was never meant to be to begin with.
So we keep coming back for more, as a way to tie the timing together of each moment to make one long lifetime of joy. Despite how much I may hate it, I will take every second of joy I experience. I can handle the price of pain of happiness.