February 2017
"It's odd, to watch in me, the forms that hope can take. Even in something as the way 3 different toppings change old taste, and create something new. And I break from the pain of apathy or sameness, am reminded, in me, that a new good can be as simple and close as a jar of toppings in the refrigerator.
"It's odd, to watch in me, the forms that hope can take. Even in something as the way 3 different toppings change old taste, and create something new. And I break from the pain of apathy or sameness, am reminded, in me, that a new good can be as simple and close as a jar of toppings in the refrigerator.
I think this is part of the beauty of hope--how it allows
desperation to pass. And I get to hurt,
for the old good that I can no longer reach, in the way that a room is
different once the lights go out, and home is not the same once you've moved
away, and you miss the neighbors who've gone on and been replaced by people you
don't know.
Now ... this now... is different.
And it keeps going, beyond the things I was graced to
love. Now... has changed.
And so I sit, eating my rice and lentils with 3 different
sauces, and think of the good, and the lost, and I hurt as the music moves
through me, with its whispers of how alone I am, in this Now, this experience,
amongst a vast place that is the world and that is me."
