it’s enough
for the hopeless iii.
It feels as though the rug under my feet becomes swept from beneath me far too often lately.
So much so, I rarely remember anymore what has caused another fall; it all happens so quickly…though the days seem to painfully drag by.
Not much has been keeping me enlivened recently; I only ever long for nightfall, for when I’m asleep, I’m at most peace. Throughout the hours of weighted wakefulness, shamefully, I try my best to remain as busy as possible to ensure any thought ceases to exist.
However, I’ve found small glimmers of hope with various work in writing, and for that, I am grateful.
All that which keeps me from completely becoming lost is small hopes as such: a hope to have matcha-vanilla overnight oats in the morning, a hope to see a butterfly in the garden, a hope to finish and submit my writing projects for review…
small hopes that I can not only take part in making them more than just a mere thought, but that also give me comfort to know that even if I don’t see a butterfly or get the job I wanted…I’ll be content to know that I did everything I could to make them almost possible — taking out the ingredients to make my favorite overnight oats as a reminder before bed, sitting in and being present with nature for as long as possible, setting a designated time for research and another for writing…etc., etc., etc.
As small glimpses of sunlight beaming through openings between breaking clouds after an elongated storm, it’s enough.
