Bane of granular understandings.
What is this happiness. Why does it beget a balance dredging along its comorbidities.
Why is it the derivative of a transition.
Why can’t there be happiness in its search. Or in its lack.
Such intensities defeating its very purpose, its rendition fading in regrets or confusion. Some dissolve in the forgiving dirt, some in thin air.
Compounds of thoughts and emotions metamorphosed into something known or something delightfully unfelt yet.
So much to absorb, so much to render.
The nostalgic credence... 