—THAT’S ABOUT AS HAPPY AS IT GETS

 

Maybe

Maybe I just need someone to remind me that the world’s beautiful, how you can’t find laughter on a lake anywhere else, feet running down the dock boards, a joy sound in the thump-thump-thump they make before liftoff and splash. Everyone has a war story, and these days they’re literally war stories—shrapnel turning bodies into nothing more than morbid pasta, a mother’s wail battling for space with shrieking sirens. It happens and it’s tragic, something you can’t unhear or unsee, just take a look around. So, I am wrong to want to watch a cone of butterflies twirl almost-drunkenly over a backyard bush? Smell some honeysuckle? Spot some stray deer or cocky eagle lollygagging in the sky? Is it horrible to want to make a baby gurgle and smile back? Tell its mother how lucky she is? Promise her that it just gets better and better? I’m asking in all sincerity; is it indecent or is it permissible to believe life is still worth it?