Backwards

I never write when I am happy. If you want call it happy, however it may just be content. It is very rare that happiness comes to boiling point were you overflow with emotion and desperately desire to express it upon a page. I remember feeling like that before, and writing beautiful ideas and thoughts down on a page, but lately my happiness is rarely that elevated and I am preparing for the next moment, the one that comes after. I am preparing for the moment when the dark emotions come back and it is those I need to spew upon a page.
Right now however, I am happy, there is stillness, everything floats above the shit and just rests breathing in the fresh air. In the back of my mind there is still the stench though, and the fear of falling down again. I was once so happy I felt like my happiness was untouchable and that it came from a world that was incapable of being tainted by the shit of this one, but now to my horror this world moved in on my perfect one, and I have no idea how to get back to what it was before.