it's not the end.

I’ve never known Hope for long. She changes her face each time we meet and she never lingers for long. I’ve been trying to live in hope, for it is my namesake, so I’ve been trying to make a home out of hope. 


But trying to make a home out of hope is like digging a well through a bunch of boulders. It’s hard and it hurts. Because the ground shook. The ground shook and cracked and heaved. So making a home out of hope doesn’t really feel worth it. 


But the thing is, even boulders break. Even mountains move. So making a home out of hope, takes hope. Takes faith. That it’s all gonna be okay and if it’s not then it’s not the end. I’ve lived by that for the better part of a decade. And it hasn’t failed me yet. 


But hope is a choice, and a hard one to make. Because hoping hurts. Hoping that it really does get better than this. That this isn’t the terrible end that was prophesied. That this just isn’t the end. 


Hope is not some small thing far off in the distance, unknowable. Hope is a person and if you’ve never gotten to know her she is more than hard to place in a crowed room. But a person she remains, and it takes work. To know hope takes work and it takes more than I’ll say because sometimes it's too much. 


And I’m sorry to say but if you are without hope you have nothing. If you never believe it’ll get better, be better than this then it never will. I’m sorry, it’s not a fun truth to hold in your pocket; its heavy. And I’m so so very sorry that this life has never been easy. Hasn’t treated you kindly. But if the only thing you take away is this, it’s that if it’s not okay then it’s not the end. I know fewer truths other than that, it’s not the end. 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

waving goodbye, and hello

As the year comes to a quiet close, I can’t help but look back at it with satisfaction and mild perplexity. It was quite the year, a new lifetime low of loss, while meeting the greatest accomplishment yet.   I lost my grandfather this year, and I wrote 100,000 words onto my second novel. These things seem to parallel one another. The contrast of my year. I began the year waking in another country, in a different home, and now will celebrate it’s end in another. I moved across the continent and it has been a doozy of it’s own ups and downs.  I think getting older it like that. Where the middle ground seems easier to find, more comfortable to sit in. I’ve been a creature of extremities, black and white in thinking if you believe my father, but as I turn the chapter into the new year I think I’ve become at least a little more calm.  It was a year where so much happened it feels as though there is little to say about it, I was too busy living it. Whether chosen or not, ...
Read more

a date neatly noted

I never used to date my work. In school there was always a place for the date and seldom a day did I fill it in. It didn’t feel important at the time, didn’t seem to matter. Really I thought I’d never look back at my time as a student, elementary, middle, or high school. It just… didn’t seem to matter.   Before I moved this past time, in April, I had to go through ever piece of everything I own, or now owned. It was an arduous process, it took weeks and some things took months. It is not a process I long to repeat any time soon. While doing so I sorted through all my old school papers, seeing what I might like to keep and what I’d like to burn. Not only metaphorically I literally burnt the papers I didn’t keep. It was final, and even as I said good riddance I felt my heart ache. Not all my school journey was for my betterment, but not all of it was for my doom. It’s something I hold in tension to itself to this day.  In this searching and deciding I took notice of the fact...
Read more

shining

I got back into the grind of writing my book late last week, Thursday night to be specific. I had planned on starting back up on the Friday, or just straight up waiting for the start of the week to jump back in. But I was too excited when I thought about it, so I got back to it a little early.   I remember having resigned myself to staring again later, but on Thursday evening I looked over at my desk, my notes for the book staring back at me. After that it was all over, I could’t help myself. I was just too tempting.  It felt like coming home. Getting back into the story felt like home. A feeling I’ve always been chasing. It made me nervous after I realized it. I didn’t want that feeling to end, didn’t want to finish writing because then I’d have to do all the other parts of publishing a book. The parts I’ve been halfway avoiding for awhile now.  Having hit the climax before the climax of the book, where my two main characters finally meet and talk was positively exh...
Read more