I ask the same questions. What makes you happy?
It's the same answers so far. Little things. Dogs. Spending time with kids. I was dancing the other night with Nicole. We were singing so loud, I felt my throat ache. And my feet were sliding everywhere and it hit so hard when I pounced up and down. I make a decision to slide more because it makes me attached to something that won't move. I rarely feel so pure as when I'm dancing so rediculously, and I felt a pang of quick guilt, because all of the sudden I wasn't observing, I was the center.
But I'm singing "My baby I'm afraid I'm falling for you" with my canines showing, knowing that it'll distract Nicole from work and friends. Somehow my joy takes on the role of necessity. I'm self-congratulating.
Nicole tells me the next morning that it's the most fun she's had in a long time. I feel guilty because I can't help her.
I can't pull her out.
I can't be her little thing that makes her happy, and that's what she deserves to give herself.