My smile doesn't feel real. I can't remember the last time that I felt real joy. It lies just beyond my reach. Last night, my husband and I were watching Parks and Recreation and I heard myself laughing but I didn't feel it. I miss that feeling.
I do enjoy things. I wonder at candleight and the light that streams through my kitchen window though the dried orange slices I hung in the window, little sun circles. Story still captivated me. Color still has the ability to stir my imagination.
It's external. What I want to feel wraps around me, still familiar but it doesn't live within me. I miss what bubbles up from deep inside. I miss feeling life.