It's as if the universe had turned upside down, and it's harsh winters had burnt over. I prayed for this day to happen. I prayed with my arms wide open, for happy to stumble into my life and turn it right side up, to burn the letters off these pages to leave this skin blemish free. But it takes more than prayer. And as it turns out, the letters where the dim candlelight on the road here. Happy prefers to stumble onto blemish filled white bones molded into books of us, in a universe turned wrong side up. And it's better that way, because happy is temporary and means nothing without the truest of us; pages filled with crooked words and dog-eared blank paper scattered throughout time. The real us. No one ever prays for an accidental stumble with truth, though we should. Wrong makes the right of us happy sometimes, and stumbling into the unknown is the sum of all of this beautiful catastrophe called life.