Monday, October 21, 2013

Some Hearts

There was a time in my life when I tried to define happiness. Now I realise happiness doesn't have a definition; happiness doesn't want to be defined. Now I realise I'm not a happy person; I just have sixty serendipitous milliseconds of absolute euphoria every now and then. And yes, it may not be a lot, but I reckon it's enough. Some hearts are richly poor, and that's okay.

Some hearts just aren't capable of storing that much joy. Some hearts thrive on those accidental bouts of happiness. Some hearts dance in the dark to a jukebox song in a silent memory. They dance, somewhat awkwardly, to the sound of the saxophone emanating from the Golden Jubilee Bridge. They bloom on Sunday mornings on top of Primrose Hill. They get slightly drunk on half a bottle of white wine and they bathe and they smooch beneath the neon lights overshadowing Leicester Square. Some hearts go through life injecting stained happiness directly into the bloodstream when all they really had to do was wait.

When all they really had to do was be patient, and wait, just a little tad longer. Because yes, even though some hearts seem to do extraordinarily well on their own, no heart is an island. Some hearts need to bloom together, dance together, get slightly drunk together. Some hearts need to reinvent Oxford's definition of happiness, mostly because it just doesn't make any sense. Some hearts are only temporarily happy. Instead, they have one hundred and twenty serendipitous milliseconds of absolute euphoria every now and then.

Because some hearts are richly poor, and that's okay.