The quiet endurance of hope


Like the wing of a moth, it is beautiful but easily damaged.

Sometimes it is hanging in our every word,

others, it shines from within us for all the world to see.

There are days, months, years where it seems lost,

its phantom pain flickering in a dark unknown place within.

A careless word can dent it,

thoughtless actions can scar it,

But only you control it.

That small flicker,

that damaged, dented, scarred little piece of hope is yours.

Yours alone to have, nurture and keep.

Like all things, it is easier to see in the light,

it can be almost impossible to find in those dark times.

But it's always there,

even if it's just a lone, tiny spark waiting to be found.

It's there and it's yours.

Like a forgotten treasure, it's waiting patiently for you when you're ready,

there's no rush, it knows you'll find it again one day.

I take comfort in that.

Hope is never truly lost,

that's the beauty of it.


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