I laughed at him with a boldness even I was surprised at.
I laughed because happiness to me isn’t a letter written at the top of
one of my papers with some half-assed scribbles toying with my sentences.
Happiness to me isn’t a progress report or some numeric grade
to bring home to mom and dad proving that I’m learning.

Happiness is peeling the sticker off a new CD and reading
the booklet as I place it in the tray.
It’s driving around in my Accord within all measures of the morning
with the people that truly matter to me.
It’s finding change in the pockets of my jeans as I go to do laundry, and it’s holding hands with this one girl as we walk along the trails behind her house.

Happiness is singing at the top of my lungs and lying on blankets in tall grass,
making pinhole cameras and acting a fool.
Happiness, at least for me,
is grounded somewhere in hanging out with my friends.
Having deep thought provoking conversations, and drawing on each other’s shoes.