would you take me out tonight? // I'm not afraid of all the reasons why we shouldn't try

Sometimes I think I'm only happy when I'm unhappy. I can acknowledge the joys my heart absorbs in giving, in traveling or in small accomplishments but so many times only after they are buried in a large pile of calendar pages. I know the things that make me happy and I feel like I have the ability to reach for them. Has my heart become such a sieve that I simply let them slip away in a melancholy haze?

This is not a white flag.