I strode one day through the luscious forest of life, and amidst the fresh droplets of spring morn, I found a harsh and lonely creature.
"My name is despair," he told me. And surely he told no lie, for every moment that I spent breathing in his dust, I fell further into misery.
I stumbled away, he following me like a shadow, miring in all that would be, until I had so far lost my footing that I knew not which way to turn.
I tripped and staggered one day, across the dusty plains of understanding, and in the remains of the debris, the cracks and crevices splitting the earth asunder, I heard yet a soft whisper–so soft, indeed, that the voice of despair nearly drowned her out.
"I am hope," she told me. Weary from my sorrow, I crumbled to my knees. Bitter salty droplets of despair fled from me to such a degree that I feared they may drown the grain of hope.
But surely, she told no lie. For she stood, growing in height until she could wrap watery arms around me. And in the cool freshness of her fragile embrace, I heard her say, "Despair may hide hope for a time, but in the end, hope shines through the darkness of despair."
Taking my hand, she brought me to my feet, and though despair followed us all the way, hope held my hand, a lantern in the darkness of the land of understanding, until I reached the other side.
I wrote this while listening to "Returning to Breath" by Etta. It made me cry even as the words fell from my fingers. They say that we write what we need to hear. I think I needed to hear this.