Sunday 29th September 2019.
I find it quite hard to swallow sometimes that everything is so fragile.. so unpredictable even when you're pulled into the fake vortex of comfort and trust. I wonder at what age the painful reality that heartbreak is around every corner fully sets in. Is it when you notice the depths of the darkness in each pair of eyes you start to believe in, or realise each heart that appears open is in fact safely protected behind layers of transparent bars... I wonder when it is that all the hope fades into nothingness based on the fact that every person, each connection fails.. or fades.. or was never enough to begin with. It's easier to stop any hope that it could be different the moment you begin to feel it creeping back in..
Or maybe there are others like me out there. Others who can't shake the strength of the hope, the faith, that it will be found; that the right love will be worth every ounce of heartbreak, each shadow clouding any rainbow that tries to form - it was all worth it because it'll lead me to the person, the place I need to be. Divine timing has my back.. I have my own back above all else.
Hope saved my life.
It was hope that took my hand at a time when everything seemed hopeless. It slowly helped me get up off the floor, pack up my bags and close the door permanently to a relationship that broke me down and left me for dead.
Hope held my hand as I sobbed the three-hour car journey back to my parents. It stayed close to me as my Dad dropped me off at the airport that Monday morning with tears rolling down my face, and hugged me as I smiled with everything I had in me, waving and watching him drive away.
Hope sat next to me on the plane as I looked out of the window and grieved for the love I wasn't able to save. And when I landed at my final destination after days of travelling half a world away, it was hope that built a home in my heart and welcomed me to the place that would give me life.
Hope walked with me as I spent hours thinking on empty beaches. It encouraged me to talk to people, share my story and heal fully in the process. It was hope that wiped the tears from my face as I wrote my pain onto pages and pages and pages of paper, and celebrated as peace returned to my soul.
And when Sunday 8th rolled around, and I found myself storming down Cuba street in the pouring rain, it was hope that carried me forward even though I desperately wanted to go home. I didn't know what was pulling me to keep going. Until I walked into that bar and caught your eye, and it was hope that whispered in my ear - see, I told you it would all be worth it. Welcome to the love you deserve.
And as our hearts got re-acquainted, hope promised me that your love could be trusted. It stopped me from turning around and walking away in fear.
And when I said I love you for the first time, it was hope that smiled, a gentle smile, knowing that her time in my life had just come to an end. Her work was done.