My Red Balloon.

Hope. It sounds pitiful doesn’t it? It sounds weak and worthless. It’s the balloon tied to your wrist when you’re facing the biggest storm of your life. It’s red, bobbing up and down. It’s pretty. And it makes you feel lighter but it doesn’t do anything. It doesn’t protect you , it won’t save you. It will just sway in the gusts of wind and leave a mark on your wrist from the string being tied just a little too tight. Or this is how many people would choose to see hope. They will just tie that string as tight as they can and seal it with a bow. They’ll watch it bob up and down as the clouds get darker and the thunder growls. This is not my hope. I see it for its strength and power. It’s the feeling in your chest when you fill your lungs with air, it’s the sound of your exhale. The air leaving your body. It’s a breath. A sigh. It sustains you. Without hope your head starts to hurt, and your stomach feels like a rock. Life without hope is life without air. So I hope with all of my heart. With every breath. Every inhale. Every exhale. Filling my lungs. This hope is strong, it’s a force to be reckoned with. This hope is a gift. This hope will carry me through any storm. All I can do is keep breathing.
Dum Spiro Spero.


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