Every now and then, only not as frequently as that phrasing makes it sound, I will have a moment - an instence - of pure contentment. A moment where I think, if I could just freeze time, if I could just live and re-live this moment for the rest of existence, I would be happy. I remember the first time I had this thought, at least the first time in my semi-adult existence, and I remember most of them that have happened since. They're all different. Some seem a little silly, others, idyllic. Almost all naive. But I can still remember the ways these moments made me feel, the assurance, the relief they offered.
It's funny to think how, if I had had my way, I could be stuck under a tree in the rain, or staring contentedly at someone I used to know so well, or looking up at a set of bright stadium lights.
But living in any one of these would have meant missing out on every other moment that followed. It would mean I would be perpetually 16 and happy, or 17 and confident, or anything else that I have been. But it would also mean being nothing that I am.
Because I can't be anything other than the product of my troubles, finding refuge in the light of my days. I don't know how. And I'm okay with that.
More than okay.