At this moment, this harrowed life leaves me lame.
I wonder how to believe that imperfect steps are what make life perfect, that others like me have fallen and risen to find the path again.
“Hope,” a voice says from within, but I cannot see it.
“No one believes in me,” I reply.
My heart feels blank, like these pages on which I try to write.
“Hope,” a voice says from within, and before I reply, it whispers it again.
“Hope,” I chant along, taking a step.
A word comes, and then another and a story starts to break free.
(© 14th January 2016)