Trying to fall into the place of hope is precious and precarious all at once. Hope can be the strongest rail but breaks like plasticine if the supports waver. Where do you find substance for this strange bridge, that is as certain as last night's dream but as fragile as a cloud. When it beats for you, nothing will stop the pace and speed. When it falters nothing will scream so silently. It is decidedly unreal and certain.
This is the hope that rocks beneath the face of a writer, taunting, teasing and taming the hums of doubt.
Nothing can speak so softly.
Nothing can fill you with such dread.
Another trip with the travel partner of hope seems so terrifying. She will not let you stop, yet offers few words. She laughs and it is for you to determine the mockery or love in her voice. She can break your insecurities into feathers, or sing them into the bird that will finish the journey. Your heart alone decides the flight. You decide the volume and courage. You decide to put the fears to sleep and hear the pulse of hope over the crackling lightening and tears of history.
If this is your story, you choose the higher voice and refuse to look down.
If this is your story, you will soar.
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