Happiness

These days go so fast as a worker bee. But one thing you find, in contrast to the lovelorn fool of old, is that love is quite real and that, far from being something that strikes you like an arrow or bolt from the heavens, love is something that grows slowly out from a seed, until you find yourself thinking of this girl and wondering what she might be doing and feeling undressed without her arms, until your self-centredness warps outwards to encompass another tiny creature alone like you, until you find yourself wondering in an abstract way what the hellish wreckage of last year was all about and whether happiness is quiet dissolution.