Hope

Hope is the quiet thing

that stays

when the noise has burned itself out.

It does not shout.

It does not promise miracles.

It simply sits beside you

and says, breathe again.

Hope is the thin crack of light

under a door you thought was sealed,

the way morning still arrives

after the longest night

without asking permission.

It grows in unlikely places—

between broken plans,

inside tired hearts,

in the pause before giving up.

Hope is not the absence of pain.

It is choosing to believe

that pain is not the end of the story.

It is a seed buried deep,

trusting the dark

long enough

to reach for the sun.

And one day—

often when you are not looking—

you realize

you are still here.

Still reaching.