When the music is Beautiful

I watch people struggle
wondering 'why?'
Knowing that my own struggles 
have never been too much,
-as struggles should be-
but some struggles appear to me
like a few moments spent
trying to untie a child's knot. 

So, I put on Beethoven's 7th,
light a cigarette and dance
with it for a while.
She is in the other room
and I don't mind.
I must be unbareable at times,
I should know, afterall.
She is priveledged:
She can escape me,
but I am here for the long haul. 
'Too negative' they say of me,
yet I only see realism
which is only ever bleak,
but I have learnt to laugh
occasionally.

That, to me, is optimism
as I listen to his seventh
once gain, smiling. 
I shall eventually crawl
in to bed with her
and apologise for being me,
never expecting my own apology
and never needing one.