prologue.

City-living happy girl

In a cynical world

The concept of happiness has always been a vague shadow, an adumbrated idea of normalcy, a blurred portrayal of high expectations. I've always thought of myself as the antipodal ideal of joy and positivity. I've always viewed the broad smiles and vibrating laughter of strangers as desirable but unattainable, forever out of my reach. I never thought I would reach the apogee of emotion that is so sought-after by the general public.

I've always asked myself what it means to be happy. Is it being able to smile at the simple things in life, or is it being able to feel confident enough to let loose and laugh? Or is it just to be satisfied and content with what you have, to not desire anything more than good friends, a loving family, and material needs?

For me, happiness is a foreign thing.

When I was young, my mother told me that I always laughed. She said that whenever anybody said anything around me, I would crack up for no reason. I often long to remember those moments in my life, to relive and understand how I felt at that point in time. Laughter is a stranger, smiles are far-off acquaintances. I wish that I could have that childlike innocence back, the carefree, dizzying, full-body joy that seems to have become such close friends with many but has always treated me like an outcast.

Whenever I watch my mother's face fall when she realizes that I've retreated into myself again, I can't even bring myself to feel guilty. I can't force myself to feel anything anymore. I can only feel fear, anger, and gloom, and though I've tried to push myself through it, I can't.

The only thing that makes me see a glimmer of the light called happiness is Lukeanne.

The role of music should not be as monumental in a life as it is in mine. It has saved me from the darkest and blackest and scariest of episodes, and it has brought me further out of the black hole of my soul than anything else in the world has. Meaning behind music can really only be construed by a listener. While a song may have an original theme that the author was trying to convey, try as they might, listeners will always hear their own personal version of the same song as somebody else. They will read into certain lyrics more than others, and the vocals and instruments will have a different auditory meaning to them than to a different listener.

And that is why I'm currently having a mental breakdown in my bed at three a.m. in the morning.

As I was struggling to sleep, tossing and turning in bed—side note: depression symptoms are monsters sometimes—I received a message from my best friend, Aliyah Daine, that made me more alert than ever at this hour.

Luke had released a new song.

I quickly scrambled out of bed, grabbing my computer from its place on my desk and yanking it from the charger. I search up the song and find it on Spotify immediately. Before hitting play, I pause and take a deep breath. I can't believe this is happening. My brain is whirling in anticipation and nervousness.

For months, there had only been radio silence from Luke. I was starting to fear that she would ever release new music again, an added source of strain and emotional detritus to my mental state. I had listened to her old music on constant repeat, hoping beyond hope that she would come out with something new, even going as far as to subconsciously dream about that day. But I didn't expect it to ever happen.

I pushed past my initial delay and forced my pointer finger to press the play button, knowing that this was going to change my life, whether I liked it or not.

Thought you were the one

Thought you were perfect

So I laughed with you and cried with you

Lay with you in the sun.

But now I know.

Now I realize, now I see.

That through it all, through everything

You aren't the one for me.

And although the song is lyrically perfect—everything is straight-forward and simple—the song resonates with heartbreak, and teardrops, and a loss that cut through her soul.

Ali is blowing up my phone but I can't force myself to check her messages as I sit in stunned silence, listening to the song. I know the basis behind the song: Luke and her boyfriend, Kellan, had recently broken up, much to my dismay. Sources say he cheated on her, and this song seems to confirm the suspicions that I refused to believe.

It hurts to know that the person who assuages the pain is hurting just like me.

It hurts to know that even she isn't strong enough to get through it sometimes.

I watch the music video, my heart racing as tears fall down my eyes. Luke has portrayed a breakup in the most symbolic sense of the word, and I can't help but feel the emotions that she must be experiencing wash over me, taking me with them.

That night, I lay in bed, staring at the blank ceiling, listening to the sound and hurt of Luke's voice, and crying myself to sleep.

malaynaturally xx