Thus, of those things that cannot be spoken, it must at least be said that they cannot be, to make clear that keeping silent does not mean having nothing to say, but rather that words cannot encompass all there is to say.
– Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz
I suffer from a very specific form of writer’s block. I do not know how to write happiness. Rereading through past entries, it’s no mystery that despair inspires me. And at present– feeling overcome with joy– the right words press against my ribcage and sit stoic while I ramble incoherently to the masses. Perhaps this is a defense mechanism, born out of fear that expressing my current state will jinx its endurance. The more effort I exert in trying to construct sentences with articulate diction, the more I feel as if I am devaluing the emotions.
And so… simply, I am happy.