Sex.
People.
People make me happy.
Their stupid laughs and the way they show you the cool socks they're wearing even when they're 35 years old.
Whiskey.
Buckets and buckets of alcohol.
And no regret for the stupid things we do because of it.
My fat cat sleeping on my stomach.
Red lipstick.
The way my curls look berserk when I take out all my pincurls.
Lace.
Every ridiculous pair of panties I own from Victoria's Secret.
The way the moon glows like its own sun.
Men.
The one whose reading this.
The one who will never read this.
The friends who are my family.
Girls nights.
Cuddling up on a chair too small for our big butts and watching the whole movie like that anyway.
Kitty onesies and the one who will wear one with you.
Christmas trees and Christmas lights and Christmas Eve.
My parents.
An audience.
Sunsets.
Twilight.
Hikes.
The city.
The ocean.
Sand between my toes.
Popcorn cooked on the stove.
The way little girls look at me when they believe I'm Princess Anna.
The way men look at me when they want to say I love you.
Peanut butter.
Singing.
Songs that take me back to an exact place.
Running until I can barely breathe.
Kissing until I can barely breathe.
Breathing after I've finished crying.
Disney movies.
Fairytale endings.
Believing in happily ever afters.
Accepting people's shortcomings.
Loving them anyway.
Love.
It's really everywhere.
Joy.
Waiting to seep into our skin.
Sometimes I forget.
How simple it really is.
To be happy.
With all that already is.
Just to be.
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