Pursuit of Happiness

My fingers fiddled with dirt clods, fulfilling an unspoken mission to find all of the rocks that disguised themselves as such. They served to soothe my nerves as I found the words to tell you about the darkest parts of me.

Earlier that evening was spent fawning over Dan, the made up man who could have been a screenwriter but worked at The Pig instead. “I blush when I eat,” his smirk and white shirt were the selling points and we were all too eager to buy into his charm. Us two, sitting in a forest room with stoney guts, a fake moon reflecting violent blue, swearing to never let anyone else in. Swisher sweets and Hollywood streets, the night was ours and we claimed it with the blind notion things would never change.

I lost myself on honest hill. The buzz of tension that silently drew us deeper into conversations that will ring hollow in my head forever. Echoes of pain and grace that laced our confessions. The sea of city lights glistened, giving our restless eyes something to gaze at while we relieved our backs of long carried albatrosses.