“if the world only gave you one more day to collect your moments and build your repertoire of happiness…”
she stops reading the billboard as it blurs past. it’s so stupid, she thinks to herself. someone who had actually experienced moments that contribute to a repertoire of happiness would not think of it this way. why? because those moments are uncollectable. one cannot simply seek them, absorb them, pick them up and slide them into a test tube and cork it for a rainy day. it cannot be found, freeze dried, stuck in a vacuum and sealed.
those moments are the ones that are over. the ones that you wish you could remember perfectly, but blur a little more each time you think of them. they alter themselves, distort their pictures, fade a little around the edges. until all you have left is the memory of how it made you feel. and you smile, secretly to yourself, until something else catches your attention. but you remember the aura, the atmosphere, the presence of joy, even without all the detail in between.
and then the feeling disappears.
those moments are like when you’re laying beside him on the sofa, almost touching but not quite, talking about everything yet nothing. denying the attraction but comforted by the closeness of your bodies. never running out of things to say.
those moments are the ones where the world would pause for a few hours. and then the sun would rise and everything would become blurred once again.