in our house of happiness runs a river where we got to wash away assumptions, cultural norms, and generational hurt. we got to smile as we washed one anther’s back, gentle hands over scars. kisses over water murmur. the touch was for the healing, was all we got.

in our house of happiness, the biggest room with high ceilings, got books neatly stacked on shelves that i installed, and meticulously organized. catalogued. you picked and placed all the art that told stories, celebrated proles, and marginalized folks. there was a chair you were rocking. a queen in her kingdom.

in our house of happiness, phones didnt ring. they only received handwritten messages. and there were notebooks and scraps of paper and pens everywhere. so even tripping on writing instruments reminded us of the work ahead. a world that needed saving. a world within us, that craved healing. inviting minds to be safe and curious.

in our house of happiness, there was a community room. where we would host film screenings and book talks. learning, and nourishing. leaning with kindness headfirst.

in our house of happiness, there were children. playing in a field. toddlers’ crying declaring life. animals and a garden of hope.

in our house of happiness, practicing music was welcomed and encouraged. even if when it was a nuisance to the ear to hear it. sometimes we needed earmuffs, and that was okay.

in our house of happiness, i celebrated your joy, and you celebrated mine. i mended your wounds and you tended to mine.

in our house of happiness, even pain found permission to rest. so did recovery. honest intentions. love.

in our world of happiness, we’ve given this one more try.