Sitting
I sit here on my bed, and I wonder how everything has happened. How human will over time has made everything like it is. Even things that are brand new aren't really. The pen I'm writing with has existed for billions of years. I've lived for billions of years, we all have. Maybe not in our current state, as a pen and a human being, but we all (as in all us atoms) have been around nearly forever.
I sit and I remember when I used to sit before. How I used to wish I could have anyone, and then when I could have one specific person. I was never happy then.
I sit and know that now... after 17 years of lonelyness, and billions of years of being seperate atoms, I'm happy. I'm happy. I know I'm happy because... I want to do anything to stay happy. Well almost anything, not including extreme examples (mass murder, etc...). And things don't affect me like they used to, she is the most important thing in my life, as well as the best thing in my life. Everything else seems kind of far off compared to her.
I sit and I breathe. All the carbon dioxide left over going out, fresh oxygen mixed with already used air going in. The gravity from all the atoms of Earth pulling me down on the bed, and the bed pushing me back up. The ink flowing from this pen onto this paper. Such as it is for me to think.
I sit; I think; I love; I'm happy... finally.
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