Where did my hope go? When did it leave my side? Or is it still there? Just silent in my brain.
Pills. Therapy. Write. This is how I search for it. Without it, I am lost. In a dark forest with no light.
Breadcrumbs appear. Writing is one. So I follow the crumbs, and see where they lead.
For now, that means poetry. I hesitate to say, but I think it gives me hope.
So perhaps it is here, quieted by my mind, and I can find a way to make it louder. Perhaps.
So I will continue to write. As I hope for my hope, to raise it’s voice clear, and bellow in my ear.