I am still holding out hope.
I've been devastated by so much about the way the world works--born at a disadvantage, kicked when I'm down, locked out of a modicum of joy--but I believe in possibilities beyond ours.
Some forests have not been fully explored. There could be unicorns there, trotting free and easy, nibbling leaves off plants. There are narwhals in the sea, why not on land?
And the sea! No one could have searched through all of it. We've burnt centuries checking every shore, but it's barely been any time at all since we've submerged.
Who's to say there aren't merpeople? Or a kraken!
High up in the mountains there are places no eyes have ever seen.
At the very peak of the world the yeti could be lurking, untamed, waiting for humanity to end itself so they can finally attain dominance over all Earth's creatures.
When my husband left, this is how I consoled myself. When our daughter died, these were the thoughts that cast light into a place of shadows.
My first bout of homelessness, my second, the impending third--I need to believe there's a world of endless possibility out past what I've seen.
I'm headed out into the cold and the dark again now, utterly alone, except for the dragons and the pixies and the leviathans and all kinds of spirits. Maybe Christine's.
I need to believe there's more than this.
I need this. I need this. Please.