I think one of the strangest forms of happiness is the bittersweet, almost heartbreakingly melancholy one.
When I was on the bus on the long ride home I was looking out the window at the sea we were passing, and I saw several small fishing boats- almost canoes, really, and people sprawled on them, drifting peacefully, fishing lines held lazily in water. The sun was bright, dancing off the still surface, and all I felt when I watched them, laughing, chatting, drifting, resting- was this really bittersweet feeling that I couldn’t pinpoint. It spread through my chest with such intensity and strength yet I couldn’t articulate it.
It felt like the ache of those memories you couldn’t keep with you no matter how hard you tried. It felt like recognising how temporary and fleeting everything was but that only made it more significant.
It’s the feeling you get on long car rides staring out the window. It’s the feeling you get out with your friends at the beach and you’re so happy for that moment even though the moments never last. It’s the feeling you get travelling on a plane to a place you haven’t seen in years. It’s the feeling you get sitting alone looking over the city with a drink in hand and music playing from your earphones. It’s the feeling you get hearing your favourite song played at a concert. It’s that feeling.
That untouchable bittersweet happiness, of feeling your place in the world, of feeling so deeply for those temporary moments that fade into memories and dreams in the back of our minds.
