As the spark began to dim, I stood and watched.
As I heard the absoluteness of finality, I listened.
As the realization dawned on me that I had vested a fool’s hope, I cried.
When I processed the information, I began to believe.
When I allowed the negative energy to expend itself, I breathed.
When I challenged myself to let the words flow, I wrote.
But all the while those unspoken words buried themselves inside me wherever pain goes when there is no place for it on the outside.
I had a vision.
I had hope.
I had passion.
I had a mission.
I had focus.
And it felt good.
As I sat listening to the powers at be unable to draw a compelling story to keep the organization I work for afloat, words stuck in my throat and I inwardly cursed that I couldn't speak out. I don't think it would've made a difference, but at least I would've been able to be free of those words. Instead, I wrote. The above came from that writing spree.
I know in my heart that I will feel good again. I will restore my vision, my hope, my passion. But for now, I think it's okay to let go of those words. It is the pathway to healing.