Sometimes we’re happy, from a little thing.
We read a quote, think of a joke, or hear an our-of-place phrase.
We snicker, then look around:
Who else is laughing?
“Oh,” we think.
We stop laughing.
Speak to me tenderly of intimate things, in your soft, sweet voice I hear most of the time.
I’ll show sincere expression praising your wit, with eyes admitting contrary thoughts.
Tell me what I think, my darling. Trust my tenuous sincerity.
I love you for who you are, in my mind.
It’s easy to compare ourselves to others, to think that we just don’t do life as well as everyone else.
In reality, there exists a giant garbage dump of failed Pinterest attempts that nobody has posted to her Instagram.
I’m really frustrated. I’ve tried everything. I’ve even resorted to bribery and threats.
I still can’t get myself to do the housework.
A covey of quail
A gaggle of geese
A murder of crows
A poop of pigeons
Sometimes a compliment is sunlight glancing through the only arrow slit in the wall of a deep dungeon of stone. Looking up from the dripping walls, dank atmosphere, and filth on the floor, I am distracted by a happy idea I forgot could exist.