Happiness

“Whats that thing?” She asked, ruffling her blonde hair and looking into his eyes.

“What thing?” He asks, laying back on the grass and tilting his head to look at her. 
“You know,” she smiled and nudged his leg with hers, “that thing, in the sky, in the clouds shaped like doves, in the grass, underneath rose petals and in wishing wells.”
He grabbed her hand and she looked up into the tree above her.
“In icecream cones and cherry blossoms, swirling in cotton candy skies and diving into lakes and ponds. You know, between the fingers of the hand you hold and the lips you kiss, the thing that connects the stars and creates constellations.”
He nods, smiles and stares at her, hoping she would continue.
“It’s in your skin and your bones, its always there if you care to look. If you look between the lines of book or under your bed sheets its there. It’s everywhere. It’s in puppies and harmonies and cities streets, in the sun and in the moon, in warm baths and Christmas trees. You do know don’t you? That thing thats in the air you breathe, under raindrops and spread across a sunday. Whats that called?”
“Happiness?” He asked, fingers still latched in hers.
“Yes,” she smiled widely, recognition in her eyes and layed down next to him, “happiness.” 
s.b. 

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