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Bliss is a subtle warmth, slow moving, slithering through you to all your extremities, like a dwindling sun dancing on your forearms at the end of Summer. I've felt bliss. I've known it countless times, huddled around it & let it pore through me. It dangles fretlessly with no end game. Bliss is the laidback happiness that ebbs and flows, sweeping in on a day where you least expect it, where the alarm clock never chimes, when you shake sand from your hair, where your peripheral vision seems to melt at the corners and the world looks like an old movie. I always find naps bring about that feeling. Waking up with bliss pooled around you. You move slowly so as not to disturb the lull feathered on your head like a garland. I sink into my life when I have bliss enveloping me. Every nuance is a blessing, every imperfection is a wonder. Every person's fumbling daily efforts are striding endeavours or fanciful pirouettes. Bliss is weightless. It defies gravity. It doesn't try hard. Bliss is seeing the simplest of things for the first time and marvelling at how they came into being. The atoms, the stars. It's being neither tiny nor a giant. It's just being. Just being. Just being. Just being here. 

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