Dear joy,
I’ve found/still am finding that you can be discovered in the most peculiar of forms. Your existence is everywhere, yet hidden to a considerable amount of eyes. Humans often falsely seek you in the darkest of places, not knowing your origin. For you are a fruit of the spirit, created by the creator of all things that exist. You couldn’t contain a price tag even if you wanted to, you’re infinite. I wish to withhold you no matter the day. It’s a choice to choose into you each time the sun rises. It’s an even harder choice to choose into you on the days that I wake up to the risen sun wearing a grey mask. But I’m determined to be oblivious of the grey, because behind that grey mask, is the sun still shining bright as ever. I will never stop discovering you in the most peculiar of forms.
