Notes to a Testament (Part II)

If I accept the impossibility of happiness, will I feel more liberated than ever before? What kind of liberation is worth a renunciation of possible happiness? A liberation which soothes my restlessness into a doleful sleep, calms these erratic fingers, this scowl & burning heart? Liberated & catatonic, like the revelers who drape the street with their laughter. Freed from any potential for surprise, cataclysmic awakenings, sudden eruptions of lust & delight. But free. Yes. Never to expect a moment's beauty. I'd rather have faith in the possibility of happiness, believe that I've felt it before & may feel it again even though my skin recoils at the very mention of the word. Believe it & accept the nightmarish spell of routine, these selves constantly hurled to the floor or lifted up into the light with a view to scrutinize & condemn them for what they fail to represent or uphold. Having faith in happiness without ever expecting its sometimes graceless embrace, its drunken kisses. Suffering for the possibility that one night I may be surprised.