I worry that words are failing me. Or that I am failing words.
If monotony sets in - stability, normalcy, quintessential small town life,
What will I write about?
If I long for nothing, if I find I am happy most days,
what shall I put on paper?
Happiness? Is there such a thing?
Or have I hoped for it for so long, that it's actually an illusion?
A facade I've bought into. What will I write about, when I'm happy?
Am I happy?
Or am I faking it?
I don't want to fake it with you.