peanutbutter men

I’ve been very recently accused of being happy. I’m writing about nicer things, he says, lighter things.
Darnit.
It’s actually rather difficult to put nice feelings down, I realise. You don’t want to. I don’t want to.
Hurt, and anger, and sorrow; those things I write about because once I do, I tuck them away. I can put them aside, and move on with (what remains of) life.
Happiness? Happiness I want to hold on to, for as long as I can.
–
Have you wondered if there are greater beings, greater beings right here? I know there’s speculation of greater things out there, but what if out there really includes here?
Just something that struck me as I read the theologist. I digress, but those strong of faith shouldn’t really write of faith. What I hoped could have contained epiphany merely annoyed me with preaching.
Anyhoo.
–
The strangest things come to me as I’m baking. And my cookies are done.
Life changing epiphany next time.
Damn. Cookies. I really am becoming happy.
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