I glide down the streets on my bike, the sun coiling around my neck and the wind whistling into my mouth. Sometimes I feel so goddamn happy for the tiniest things. Like how the smell of grapefruit lingers in the air when it’s burst open. Or how the shadows tickle the arms of a scrawny wooden cabinet. The smoky scent of cumin brushing against my cheek, and the warmth of peppermint tea soaking up my cold belly. The ring of my guitar permeating the bones, the grip of a pen locked between my fingers.
It’s these moments I’d think back to that scene in American Beauty, about how much beauty abounds in the world. And then I’d grin to myself at how awfully cheesy I can be, and how blessed I am to begin to realize how much happiness it brings me.
