present perfect: one less lonely boy

"Do not want what you do not have," said the philosopher. "It's the key to happiness." It's a common enough maxim. A lot know of it, I'm sure. It's one of those adages that people know by heart but have trouble living by it.

I have been thinking about it since the close of Valentine's day. I have been thinking about it a lot. That's why I probably found myself figuratively moving to a beat as I walked down the road by the river last Monday. It was a little past dawn. Traffic was already scarce; passers-by, scarcer. I was by myself, but I'm never alone as Archie played:

So this is what it feels like
This is how it feels now I'm finally smiling on the inside

The crisp February wind on my hair (or whatever's left of it) felt cleaner. The city lights shone brighter; the moon and stars, a lot like sunshine. The place just seemed better. It was like I was stepping to a groove, and I could dance in the middle of the road or tell the world that I was okay and that I was free and it was like I was in love, but I wasn't and I was carefree and stripped of all worries. I was high and calm and satisfied, and I was happy. For the first time in a very long time, I was. I could say that without cringing. It felt so good.

Perhaps, that was me not wanting things that I do not have. Or maybe, that was me wanting to be on Hearts' Day mode forever and always:

"You seemed happy, which is really nice. I was happy to see you happy." a friend said at the close of the 14th. "It just seemed you had a glow. You were bubbly and perky."

I remember wanting to glow, even without a valentine. So with hands in my pockets (to keep my shorts from slipping as I forgot to wear a belt) and a wide smile in my eyes (with dimples, still), I turned the corner and kissed the night goodbye.

For the record, I still am.