THE WAY THINGS FALL

In a time of despair, pain, and suffering, happiness is but a total luxury.  There are times when I feel like saying, or writing, or remembering, a thing; yet the word vanishes, or dissipates, or simply melts into the air.  It must have been fear, and exhaustion, and powerlessness; and theories just do not work, neither nor narratives, nor literature, nor philosophy.  Whereas in an ideal world, as the poem goes, if I were a word, I would call out for the beautiful, the just, the true.  And even in a less-than-ideal circumstance, that happiness is still a luxury, one should still reasonably seek an advance.  And even the meaning of life remains obscure, or deceptive, or simply beyond reach, it matters not for the nature of life is not progress, but to move forward no matter what; and that we will keep on walking, perhaps for the sake of keep on walking, and this may be all that matters, after all. 

Wish you a happy birthday.