She walks down the street, head bent into her favourite book. She’s reading this for the fifth time, this year. Her feet know the way to work, moving automatically to her destination, a desk some stories up in a glass tower. Even if she knows exactly how this chapter ends, every time she reads it her heart soars, and rides a rollercoaster. She knows that if she finishes this chapter off, she’ll smile nearly all day today. When I first saw her, she was wearing pinstripes, and that’s what she’s wearing today. Every little thing makes her happier, and there’s nothing better than that.
I know this because she tells me, that night when we’re on the bed watching TV. She reaches up and brushes a lock of hair out of my face, smiles at me and cuddles up to sleep. I smile, and turn off the TV. This is happiness.