Windows open, rain falling; when will I be happy? Outside, the leaves sway in the cool air that brings with it a hint of autumn and they touch the window now and then, like a season begging to enter. It’s been a long time since life felt familiar; a long time since I knew what was next or what had come before. I miss the easy comfort of identity and the contentment that comes with happiness. Everything now is tense and harsh and portends something. Everything now requires attention and sacrifice and stoicism. A bit of lightning. When will I be happy?