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I often think about happiness and what it means to you. Even if definitions are flawed and incomplete. I can’t explain something as wide and relative as happiness. I can, however, remember memories of it and try to apply them to you. Because the only way for me to know how you are is by imagining you by my side, like nothing has changed.

The first place my mind goes when I hear the word happiness is me sitting on the floor of my room, looking at old photographs. That’s an ambivalent image, because it is also sad. The happy part is me reliving the childhood I shared with you. The sad part is seeing you weren’t there one day.

Analyzing only the pictures, I was the same person at the same place, day after day. You weren’t in the photos. Like you’d moved on to a different place, met new people. You not being there still makes me think of you somewhere else, a country like Australia or Norway.

Except you were at the same place, day after day. And I, inside, was having feelings of sorrow and regret. I think of them as a tangle of threads that would never be untied. They would form a map. Those were the places I was moving to, everyday. From anger to depression, like it was China to Morocco. From guilt to bargaining, like it was Germany to Russia. I was travelling so fast and there was no stopping. I couldn’t stop because I needed to move for both of us.

Possibilities that will never become realities.

listening while writing: St. Vincent + David Byrne – Love This Giant

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