how to hold onto hope?
tightly, patiently, gently. lovingly, because sometimes that’s all that we have. passionately, because sometimes hoping means being alive. unceasingly, irrevocably, wholeheartedly. tenderly, cherishing it like a lightning bug’s flickers in summer. kindly, warmly, softly, as if it were a hatchling. by tracing the harmonies of debussy’s rêverie and chopin’s nocturnes. by smiling at strangers. by watching flowers bloom and leaves spread and birds sing after a long-awaited heavy rain. by watching people laugh. by looking for the good news, counting blessings, saying thank you. by reading poetry, by listening to new music and watching new movies and trying new food and by knowing there’s always something unknown waiting for you to discover and relish and wonder about. by reminding yourself there’s always a new, peach-coloured day on the horizon. by accepting change. by growing. as onto a colourful flower, a greening branch, the indigo fluttering wings of a lone butterfly, the blazing tale of a comet, the untameable sparks of a firework, the luminosity of a supernova. how to hold onto hope? as if it were a compass and you were the ship. as if your life depended on it. as if it could change the course. as if it could change everything.