Happiness is a shower so hot, so long, and gloriously uninterrupted that the skin on your fingertips wrinkle and that the room fills with such a dense fog that you can’t see your pasty reflection in the mirror when you pull back the curtains.
Instead you see his name and his signature emoji faces eerily and boldly traced through the condensation – a shower from the night before perhaps.
You laugh at your silly boy.
Happiness is not getting dressed yet because no one is home.
It’s turning up the music you can never listen to.
The ones with sweary words.
The ones with the lyrics that pull everything in you, out of you – The truth bombs with big fat punch of dirty.
All the things you really want to say to the people who twist your insides like millions of elastic bands wrapped around rusty pop cans but you don’t have the courage to say it to their faces.
Turn. It. Up. Mama.
Happiness is letting the water from your wet hair drip onto your bare shoulders and swaying your hips that struggle against the stiffness of arthritis. It’s using the mousse can as a microphone and singing until your throat hurts and your chest doesn’t anymore.
It’s blow drying your hair off your face as if you were mother effing Beyonce herself.
Happiness is having time to put on your favourite lotion.
It’s even having time to put on make-up but mascara is all you really need today darling.
And when you’re done, you smile because you remember that moments of happiness – ones that sink right into your empty spaces and take up residence – don’t always have to be something grande.
It can be as simple as being home alone and taking a hot shower by yourself for the first time in months.
Also, happiness is an 8 year old child and an open window.