It takes so little
Happiness is so fleeting. We catch a glimpse of it through the corner of our eye. It hovers there in the outer periphery, shimmering and ephemeral.
Or, as we sit in the quiet dark, we can feel its stare boring into the back of our neck. The hairs on our arms tingling with the humming.
Occasionally, we are able to hold it in our cupped hands, and let it's fragility warm our skin.
Mostly, it lies buried under the layers of wear; under the quilted thickness of self preservation.
This evening, it lies in the glow of a lamp, the illumination of a stained glass window, the breathing of a dog fast asleep on a pillow.