Putting pursuit before happiness tells us all we need to know.
Happiness is not a destination.
Happiness is finding a two-for-one cantina, a fruit stand, a field of flowers
On the side of Desolation Road.
I fell in love for about three minutes today with a bearded man, in Echo Park. He was wearing a huge white wedding dress and getting his picture taken. I smiled at him. He smiled back. But I knew he’d never love me the way I loved him. This made him ordinary, like so many other men, and I fell out of love.
I ran through the heat and sweat and blisters and burning muscles because none of that hurts as much as missing you.
And as I ended my third mile and “Wish You Were Here” seeped through my earbuds, I tried to imagine blue skies could be happiness.
But blue skies aren’t enough.
Because I wish, I wish you here. And I need you to stay gone.
Because you were not my destination.
You were a fruit stand on the side of Lonesome Highway.
And I break because the taste of you is fading.
And the sign ahead says “Next Rest Stop: Unknown Miles”
But I’m closer now
I’m three miles closer today
herbodypolitic 