"The stars are always there but we miss them in the dirt and clouds. We miss them in the storms. Tell them to remember hope. We have hope." - Renee Yohe
Where is my hope? I gave up on hope long ago.
Emily Dickinson wrote that "Hope is the thing with feathers / That perches in the soul / And sings the tune without the words / And never stops / At all...." Yet she also wrote: "Because I could not stop for Death / He kindly stopped for me." She rejoices in death and hope at the same time, as if they can co-exist, be synonyms, be the same.
Are death and hope the same?
Renee Yohe is one of my heroes. To Write Love on Her Arms was started because of her story, her struggles. But I am not as brave as her. I am too lazy, weak, hopeless. She sees the stars and all their wonder...
...but all I can see are black holes....
"Let's pretend that airplanes in the night sky are like shooting stars. I could really use a wish right now...."
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