One of my oldest and dearest friends is sleeping in the room next to mine. Or she might be, if my dog didn’t keep busting through her closed door to lie down at her feet. I think he’s in love. I don’t blame him at all.
It’s amazing to me how easy friendship can be when it’s good. I can’t remember the last time we set eyes on each other, and yet when she walked through my front door tonight, it seemed like no time had passed at all.
The truth is, aside from a naggingly persistent cough, I am perfectly content. Just for now, just for this moment. There are things I wish for myself that I don’t yet have, and I’m aware of a slight indentation that their wanting leaves on me. There are questions that I have–answers that I would like to have–that are hovering at the outer edges of my consciousness. There are other things I’m aware that sometime, somewhere I would like to spend some time reflecting on, but they’re nothing urgent, nothing that cannot wait. My discontents are faded into the background, still there, but not really making much noise.
I think this might be happiness.