The Happiest Person You Know

Poetic, but not poetry


Photo by Marek Studzinski on Unsplash

The night blankets any bright thoughts that skitter across your mind.

So much darkness, so much light.

Confusion on the horizon of every breath.

The world is quiet now.

Do people still hope for happiness??

Seems childish, naïve, irresponsible even.

It’s cold, muddy, and stagnant here.

Half dead, half alive.

So quiet. No movement.

Even death has its advantages…a new beginning, you say?



Yes, please.



No, not that kind of death.

A symbolic dispatch from that which alienates everything good.

The moon drowns you.

The sun catapults you.

Mars inflames you.

Balance? Hmm…

Sounds expensive. Exhausting. Unattainable. A cruel joke, really.

I wish I’d died at 30 — a perfect ending.

By the way, I’m the happiest person you know.



Wendy S. Bradfield
Know Thyself, Heal Thyself

A cosmos-driven Egypt-based writer of broken dreams with a motivational flair. I write about love, life, and Egypt. Check me out at