The Feathered Thing
Hope is the thing with feathers/That perches in the soul/And sings the tune without the words/And never stops/at all – Emily Dickinson
That is what hope feels like right now. So light it could fly away at any moment, so slight it could slip through your fingers. Despite its weight, or lack thereof, it’s solid through and through. I have to believe hope, that feathered slight thing, will be the thing that pulls through.
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