There was a dream I was still holding onto, as far removed as it was from “everyday” thoughts and routines. (It was rather snugly buried under broken promises, hurt feelings, and timidity.) Yet still there lingered a hope for more tomorrows, more second chances.
At least there was until earlier this week, when a decision had to be made as to whether or not pursue an avenue that could still quickly morph into a dead end. It was rough. Still is if I think about it too much. It’s weird to talk about it, for most don’t know it was still there.
I thought there was more time. But now, that particular clock has run out. No amount of winding is going to restart it. At least from what I can see, and I’ll admit it can be a limited point of view.
And still . . .
. . . hope lingers, even as it morphs and shifts into (perhaps) what is was supposed to be all along.
It’s times like this when shelter is most needed. Not questions and possibly not even answers. Not yet. Now a safe place is needed to sit and simply be. But it’s not all stillness. A rollicking melody (it gets there, trust me) provides its own sort of joy-tinged comfort, a bright spot in a gloomy sky, if you will.