You don’t see all the love.
The words I don’t recognize are the ones my heart wrote, so feverish with hope that every line feels like a dream. Writing with hope and heart.
It is weird that I am writing love letters to life while I am on the verge of financial collapse, but I am here for it. Life is more beautiful than ever, and I am content with that. These moments happen and still happen, everything is true. Suddenly, life is poetry and joy and you can’t help but be amazed. You can’t experience awe unless you surrender to it. It feels like a unreliable witness account when transcription takes place after the facts.
I shouldn’t be here anymore but I am. Hope is blinding, despair has shades and nuances, and I have been confused since I embraced the present almost two years ago. The generosity of acceptance frees up mental bandwidth for everything else. The moment is permanent as well as fleeting. It would be an insult to hope to not celebrate it.
Others might benefit from them.