It is so strange how greatly the weather governs my emotions.
It was the most beautiful day today. People were scattered about campus; they emerged from their burrows at last, thrilled with the new warmth that enveloped our renaissance city. On the drive home, I cracked open my windows and sunlight dusted in like some sort of potion. I turned up my radio and smiled. "And if you want to buy me flowers..." he sang, and I was reminded of the carnation a girl had placed on my table just minutes before.
Happiness is a dangerous angel.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
Happiness is a tricky angle.
Well, in general you're right... except...
Well, I feel that mathematics is the language of the angels. It's the basis of our very existence. Molecules are ratios of one thing to another.
Oh, and I meant "angle" the same way people say... like the "angle" of a news story?
An angle is a story. Someone who "knows all the angles" is streetwise.
So... yeah. What I was trying to say was that happiness is hard to figure out. And sometimes it has some unexpected bends in it.
Post a Comment