I am falling apart.

I am falling apart. Though I wish it weren’t true— it is. And you know, it’s really hard being so positive all the time. I smile through things most wouldn’t, and sometimes I think I’m crazy for it. But then days like this come— days where I’m just a mess. And you know, it sucks. Where do these feelings even find space when I try so hard to avoid them? Tomorrow, I’ll wake up— I’ll be fine. It never lasts long, and I’d even say it’s never that intense. They’re just moments where life overwhelms me. But I find positivity inescapable. I’ve never been one to linger on self-doubt. Well— never isn’t the right word. But recently, I’ve just been happy. I’m happy at my job, even when I hate it and just want to go home. I’m happy at school, even when my gut twists. I’m happy with my crowd, even when they do something immature that hurts me. And I’m happy with me, even though there are times I feel “me” isn’t good enough. It’s strange— to be so aware of what sucks and still smile anyway. To feel grounded in everything imperfect and still choose joy. And you know, I think the healthiest state of being is this. I’m not delusionally overjoyed. I’m not miserable. I just exist— with myself, with my flaws, with my struggles. And I live anyways. And I love anyways. And I smile anyways. For a lover of poetry, I think I’ve become too happy to write it the way I used to. So much of my old work was soaked in misery— the kind of ache that begged to be seen. But now, I look up at the night sky and see the stars twinkling. And instead of the darkness behind them, I see the glow of the moon. Today isn’t a bad day. Tomorrow won’t be either. My life will move forward— and so will I. I’ll meet tomorrow with a smile, even though I have to be up at 7 a.m., and it’s 1:29 now, and I have a seven-hour shift waiting. Because somehow, through all of it— I still feel blessed.