Hope. Is.

HOPE IS

BELIEVING theriverflowsformetoo
TAKING outthecomma
the VASTNESS of space
ELUSIVE onTuesdays
the FLOOD, nottherainbow
PERSISTENT
having SOMEONE waitingforyou
the PROMISE ofspring
my SHADOW
still KEEPING adreamjournal
an INNER dialog
BOTHERING toaskthequestion
LISTENING beyondthemelody
sometimes FOOLISH
ANOTHER yeartogether
an OPEN umbrella
REMEMBERING whoweare
WAVING totheworld
TAKING thedayoff
an ENDLESS dance
SHINING ourownlight

Well, this is it, the end of hope. Did my experiment work? Am I more hopeful? Not really. What I learned, though, is that I do find hope in odd moments, hiding under rocks, and skipping through the darkness. In laughter. That one was a surprise.

Overall, this month made me more aware of how hope exists in my life—in tiny shards, in bad writing, inside fear. Sometimes it’s swaddled in gloom or huddled in a corner. But it’s there. It’s up to me to look for it.

Happy New Year.

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