I was walking down the street today and tears were streaming down my face. Not because I was sad, but because the cold wind was fighting with my tear ducts, forcing them to fight back with salt.
The people walking down the street were not being friendly and most stared towards the sidewalk in the hopes that the wind would forget about them due to their averted gaze.
Then, randomly, I saw a piece of paper fluttering in front of me. At first I didn’t pay much attention, but it was dancing in such a way that it grabbed my attention.
My walk and my destination were put on hold as I followed the piece of paper that seemed to be enjoying its last moments of life.
I stopped its dancing as it flew past my chest to see what it was. It was a handwritten note torn out of a lined notebook paper:
I am going to order pizzza and listen to music and dance and try to remember what it felt like to be happy
I read and re-read then read the piece of paper again. It was beautifully sad and I wondered about the author. Had they indeed danced? Did it make them feel happy? What song did they choose? Was the author a he or a she?
I stood motionless with this piece of paper in my hand not noticing the wind induced tears.
Then I looked up towards the God who is always conveniently above my head, closed my eyes, and said a prayer for the anonymous writer.
The happiness will indeed return someday and know that your words began their journey towards joy by beginning the dance in the cold wind.