They say I seem happy. More calm than chaotic, the one with silent inner, sure. Safe and secure, may be. I might even seem careless, immovable, I'm sometimes thinking. Then it turns out that Caring, beyond any control at all, is exactly what I am doing. A lot, way more than I thought, care a lot to don’t care.
Getting stuck in nice and unnice thoughts, neither of them possible to escape. Aching for more of that care back. Can’t give everything anywhere, which is not what I want but still where I am.
Then time flies, days pass. I care less, I guess. But also my face is falling sad. It’s time to fly, Cave also tell me. But will I ever land. Or will I be a bird forever. Birds don’t have sad faces. They just fly and fly, and when they land they sing a song. And for sure they seem happy, flying and singing their whole life.
I'll go on with the flying too, land now and then, to play table tennis. And right there right then I do not only seem happy, I also am...!
