She sits there under the stars wondering when she’ll ever truly be happy. She isn’t now, nor has she ever been, and she doesn’t know why. Why does the moon in a cool night sky make her want to cry, to lie down on her face and pray to the heavens for love, though she doesn’t believe in God? Why does the sun rising over the hillside make her feel like she’ll always have more to do, to see, to love? Why? Why does the earth make her feel so peaceful, yet so afraid, like there are not enough hours in the day? “Where does the time go,” she wonders. “Where does my life go?” But maybe it’s a good thing. Maybe the fear that she’ll never do enough, never feel enough, never be enough will make her good enough. Maybe she will someday be strong enough to look out over a vast field of blooming flowers and feel as though her life is complete. Maybe someday she will feel loved, or maybe she won’t, but it won’t matter, because all that matters is that there’s enough time left in the day.
And maybe, after everything, she was always happy, and that’s why she cried.
