Stampede towards happiness

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By all accounts, there was no real lull in the revelry. If there was a stampede, it was to get to the bar or the dance floor. High spirits were contagious that nite. No real need for an escort because dancing your soul happy by yourself wasn’t that unusual… although it may have looked real sad. Unattached with a brilliant diamond on that left finger spoke volumes about no real meaningful partner for protection. Any who chose to whisper about that seemingly sober lady just doing her solo on every other song, soon grew tired of her performance…even as tragic as it seemed to everyone but her.

Happiness is overrated for the forlorn and desperate. So much of those people have lost their battle; stressing over lovers who don’t get the point. The festivities can mask the deep seated hatred for showing up without the other; especially as the third wheel. The chase has become a lost cause. Who can you tell? It’s just too sad as an interesting conversation so just keep it moving…even if it the other has no great interest with couple’s adventures.

If the garb reflects a good time then the noise will drown out the screams for relief. No love lost, know happy moments but no slow dancing—sexy and close; no stampede towards happiness. Just drifting through in a costume meant for having a good time—–realizing occasional weightlessness from the burden of empty memories.

MrsO 092318

 

 

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