Hope is something small; like the first glimpse of spring or a shimmer of dawn. When encouraged, hope grows. When smothered, hope dies. Sometimes hope just merely survives. And if it can survive, one day it may thrive. Most days, I do not have hope. I live in the dark; there is no room for light. But now and then the cracks in my mind give way and it seeps in. That light is my hope. My hope survives.
The scent of coffee woke me up. My mind foggy, feeling groggy, I slowly rose from my bed. Down the stairs I could see those who were much more awake than me. Why are they like this?
More bitter than my coffee is my resentment for them. Who greets the day with a smile and a wave? I don’t trust them. I’m tired even when my body is not, feeling very slow to rot; Why am I like this?
Out the door just in time, searching my bag for those keys of mine. These days just drag and never change, It’s always the same. Even when I try and smile, it comes out forced. Why am I like this?
Finally- the day is done. I don’t know why I’m happy. I have nothing to do and no where to be, but back at home alone with me. Maybe tomorrow I’ll have more to say, or maybe just save it for another day.