Today hope is a noisy thing, whistling like the wind around the sharp corners of my living room window.
Today I feel like dancing.
Today I am writing, writing, writing, learning that this means deleting, reading, feeling fear, making myself cups of tea and praying that the process is as trustworthy as my more experienced writing friends insist it is.
Today I warm homemade soup and melt cheese on a fresh tortilla; I am reminded by my hunger that I am not invincible, not even close.
Today I have an avalanche of ideas for a place in my story where I have been stuck for months.
Today I will see if my ideas look as good on paper as they do in my head.
Today I will dive into a pool to swim laps, and love my husband of five months who begins his swim slowly, with a tentative toe, so differently than I do.
I started my today, waking slowly in the arms of this husband, reminded that living from my heart is excruciatingly hard, and just as worth it.
Today I take one more step forward in the journey toward being myself.
Tomorrow hope may swim silently, like our beta fish, waiting for me to notice him, say his name, feed him.
Today I will remember that hope is not easy, but that sometimes it sings.
2 comments:
Amy, that was beautiful. I'm glad you shared. It was encouraging. I hope you write here more.
Thanks Jo--with all the other writing I'm doing, I need to be careful that my blog doesn't eat up too much of my time (and it so can)...so glad you enjoyed!
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