Hope

Hope

I want to shout, yell, jump from the rooftops, hilltops, mountaintops. 

I want to pour my emotions out to you like the torrents of a thawing stream.

Listen and you will hear my insides corroding, and they will bloom, raining down on you like a monsoon.

Only others can choose the Golden Hour of expression.

Being hopeful is to dream - but nobody realizes how many dreams are encased within these fragile bones.

Glimmers of hope shine through my ribs like the sun rays - the moment where I stand in the sun, raise my arms and turn around. When a laugh breaks out from my lips in the middle of the staircase. Looking up from the floor, my gaze peeps out from beneath black lashes. Did you miss me? Did you ever/will you ever know me?

Hope is being found in a maze, or finding your way out of a haze. Hope is imagining the greeting you will receive from him when you start to live.

Hope is telling people who you are without fear of rejection. Not necessarily by them.

Hope is Future. Future can be whatever you want it to be... if you break your boundaries.