Is happiness an illusion—
a trick of light
on the surface of water,
beautiful
until you reach for it?
I’ve watched it move
from hand to hand,
seen people swear
they finally found it
only to lose it again
in the quiet hours.
Maybe happiness
was never meant to stay.
Maybe it’s not a house
we live inside forever,
but a window
that opens sometimes
when the air is right.
We expect permanence.
We want something solid—
a promise
that once joy arrives
it will unpack its bags
and call our hearts home.
But life
is less certain than that.
Joy flickers.
Peace comes and goes.
Even love
changes shape
as the years move through it.
So maybe happiness
isn’t an illusion.
Maybe it’s a visitor—
brief, real,
impossible to cage.
Something that passes through
just long enough
to remind us
why we keep living
in the first place.
Through the Fog 