A child laughs somewhere out of sight and your face answers before you have decided to smile, a hum starting in your chest for no one but yourself. Your Moon landed in the fifth, the country of play and first songs and the people you fall for, and there your feelings find their feet in delight. Art that arrives through the body. A crush that rearranges your week. The way a song undoes you the day after a hard one, late, with the volume low. Joy is not a prize you have to earn here; it is one of your actual skills, as native to you as breathing. What can fool you is the belief that you are only alive when something is happening, so the quiet stretches start to feel like proof that you have gone flat. They are not proof of anything. Let an ordinary Tuesday afternoon delight you. Make something nobody asked for and show it to no one. Fall for the people whose laugh you can hear two rooms away, because for you pleasure was always the discipline and never the perk.