Pure and simple, that is exactly what joy is. Pure, unadulterated happiness.

There once was a time, many days ago, when I could not tell you the last time my heart felt so happy it could burst. The last time my spirit felt as light and as free as the sunlight and the wind. But ask me now, I can tell you, and a smile would appear readily on my lips. I am happy now. I was happy then, last week; the week I spent at my grandparents' house. I sat in the kitchen, at a small wooden kitchen table, in a house that I had thoroughly known since my childhood, and walked through halls that my little feet had once stamped through.

To be with those who you love, and who love you back is a blessed, blessed thing.

There are times for words, and there are times when words should come after.

In moments when you are filled with emotion, you often find yourself sorting through words in your brain, trying to frame the real time event into a story. Maybe this helps you to digest the events unfolding, or maybe it just helps you to separate yourself from them, as if the pain or uncertainty in these moments are far too raw, too fresh, to be consumed without this prior preparation. But there are times for words, and there are times when words should come after.

In that moment when you inexplicably break down into tears that cannot be managed or hidden, but instead turn into body-wracking sobs, and you are enfolded into a lovely pair of warm, solid arms, there is no room for words. So no one asks you why you are crying, no one asks you to explain and process the permeating emotion flowing through your core; they let you feel. Because there is a time for words, and there is a time when words should come after.

That is love. And that is respect. It is respect for another person's right to experience and sift through their pain in silence, in their own time, and in their own way, without demanding an explanation. It is the willingness to be their comforter, without encroaching on their right to grieve.

Maybe love
will let me beat my fists against its chest
until my roaring turns to wracking sobs

Maybe love will withstand my long silences
and become my hiding place,
become the jar I pour my hurt into
and the arms that squeeze me back together
again.

He comes up behind me as I lie still, curled up in the bed."Shhhh," he whispers, though I haven't moved, haven't said a thing.
I wanted to get up when he came in; when I heard the door open behind me. Wanted to occupy myself to hide my tears, my frustration, my pain. But he keeps telling me: Marriage is about showing me all the parts of you that you don't let anyone else see.
So I lie still.
And my tears drip down his arm that is curled around my head, cupping the crown of my head in his palm.
"I love you, baby girl." He punctuates his whispered words with kisses to my temple: "Always, always, always."

I'm avoiding someone.

When I talk to them next, I will be prepared with a plausible excuse. Because I don't want the same things they want. And I don't know how to explain that.

I don't want to search for someone to love. I don't want to be the kind of person who tries out different dates like different outfits to see which fits me best. I don't even know who I am. How am I supposed to share me with someone else when I don't even know who I am?