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Happily Discontent
I live at the edge of the orchard,
where the fruit is sweetest a breath beyond reach.
Not because I cannot pluck it,
but because I choose to keep reaching.
Contentment is a still pond,
and I have no wish to drown in it.
Movement is its own joy.
Hunger, its own kind of feast.
Every arrival tastes of ash.
Every mountain flattens once it is climbed.
So I keep a small ache in my pocket,
like a lucky coin—
not for spending,
but for remembering what it means to want.
The happiest ones are not those who have,
but those who love the chase.
I build my life like an unfinished bridge,
a masterpiece of missing pieces,
a song sweeter for the notes that never came.
Happily discontent—
because I know the moment I stop reaching,
I stop becoming.
Copyright ©
Aaliyah O'Neil
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