Dyrose: (dai.rows)

IPA: /dai.ɹœs/

I stare at the dust motes from my sunny vantage point on the floor.

“Do you worry that this is a phase, this happiness? That it’ll disappear one day?” My voice startles the dust into a frenzy.

“Hmm?” You reply, distracted by your book.

“I just worry that my regression is inevitable. Like, what if next time, it’s forever?”

“Everyone has bad days, you can’t be happy all the time.” I hear your book thud as you put it down. I roll so I can see your face.

“Yeah, but I’m not talking about a bad day. I’m talking full-blown, I’m sad and angry and nothing, all at once kinda shit. The, not getting out of bed because you don’t find a reason to, days.” I huff out a breath.

“Dyrose,” you say.

“What?” I frown.

“Dyrose. It’s like ‘morose’, but the prequel, the fear that the happiness you have will be replaced with something bad.”

“Huh,” I roll to stare at the ceiling.

“I know it is easier said than done but it’s always best to cherish what you have, even in the face of the fear that you'll lose it. Happiness is valuable and deserves to be enjoyed. Flowers die in Winter but they always come back in Spring, enjoy them whilst they're here.”

“When did you get so philosophical?” I quip. You shrug.

“I dunno, I read a lot?” You smile as you resume reading.

I go back to soaking in the sun while it lasts.