Ache

I try to live in the moment, honestly I do.  I try to be still and present and mindful, to concentrate on the here and now.

Sometimes I do this so well I lose myself. There is no sense of time passing, just a feeling of now, and now, and now.  And I wonder whether that is how to be happy: not to analyse, or reflect but simply to smile and say "now, I am happy", not wanting to be anywhere else.

It's the in-between times that are the trouble.  When there is nothing happening. When mindful turns to mindless. When the worries start creeping in. What if that was the last happy moment? What if that was the last time?

Is it ageing, this fear of the last time? Or is it a different angst?

My happy moments seem afterwards unsubstantive.  Are they the last rays of a sun setting to grey dullness and a slow fade to black? If I held those moments, turned them over in my hand, would they crush to nothing? If I laughed too hard, shouted with joy, sighed with regret, would they blow away entirely?

Was there anything there at all? How could I be sure?

I want to mark these moments when they come now, recognise them. I don't want to be too shy to speak the good things, while there are any good things to speak.